


A Healthy Dose of Forgetfulness

by Hiniwalay



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Amnesia, Amnesiac Zuko, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Granpakku, Hakuddles, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Married Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Season 1 Zuko gets some love, Sokka has regressed into a sexist pig, You Have Been Warned, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zutara, and a non-abusive family, dadkoda, even Master Pakku is fed up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22084585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiniwalay/pseuds/Hiniwalay
Summary: While staying in the South Pole years after the end of the war, Zuko, Katara, and Sokka all wake up with amnesia.Yes, Zuko, you’re the Fire Lord. No, Sokka, not all firebenders are evil. Also, did I mention that you two are brother-in-laws?...No?It gets a little uncontrollable.
Relationships: Hakoda & Zuko (Avatar), Kanna/Pakku (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & The Water Tribe (Avatar)
Comments: 298
Kudos: 647





	1. Wake Up in Another World

The day began like this.

The sun was stirring, and Prince Zuko stirred with it. He hadn’t felt this comfortable and restful in _weeks_ , so for once, he was going to bury further into his bed and sleep in. He shifted the arm around his pillow...

Which groaned. A very sleepy, _feminine_ groan. And the pillow, Zuko noticed as his sleep-fogged mind snapped to alertness, did not feel like the lumpy cotton of his rusted ship. It felt like fur, and coarse hair, and smooth _bare skin_.

The pillow groaned softly again, rumbling under his touch and nudging closer. This made Zuko realize with perfect, lightning-like clarity that all—and he meant _all—_ of his skin was also bare.

With a sharp yelp, Zuko leapt out of the bed—or tried to.

It was dark but in the lamplight nothing was red and black but blue and white, and the covers were _sewed_ to the bed. The only thing he succeeded in was violently jolting the entire bed and now she was moving and _WAKING UP_ he was still behind her—

Brown hair, a dark cheek—

 _It was the Avatar’s_ _waterbender_ , and she was turning to face him—

_This was not the time to fail._

Desperate, he scrambled, crawling out of the top opening of this fur-lined bed-sack. He was immediately assaulted by freezing cold air, but better outside than anywhere near—

“Wha?” A soft voice mumbled, and in his low crouch he froze. Then _what was he doing,_ his neck craning to watch her with dread out of the corner of his good eye, the bitterly cool air reminding him that his body was still _completely exposed._ “What’s going...”

She trailed off as her eyes settled on him. They swiftly grew so wide he could see the whites all around.

The same time as he dove for the nearest piece of fabric, she clapped hands to her mouth and made a muffled scream.

“Who are you!” she shrieked. “What are you—How did you—” Suddenly she stopped, finding his scar, and whispered, “... _Zuko?_ ”

For a long moment, they stared at each other in silence and disbelief. Then she looked down at herself, her bare brown arms and shoulders peeking out from the—fur-lined _sleeping bag_ , that was what it was—and gingerly, cringingly, peered inside.

He thought it was impossible for eyes to get any wider, but when she looked up at him, those blue eyes most definitely were.

This time, nothing could have _possibly_ muffled her scream.

...

Katara had gone to bed in Zuko’s house in Ember Island, and woken up to the poles _in_ Zuko’s _bed_.

Which was not his, but more of hers, because this bed was definitely from the South Pole. After all, it had leopard-wolf fur at the lip and Gran-Gran’s embroidery all around.

So she had woken up with Zuko in _her_ bed. Was that more comforting, or disturbed?

Forget it. She was dreaming, right? She knew Sokka and Suki had been getting to her. Her dreams must have decided to run wild after ogling Zuko while he practiced firebending shirtless.

Returning her thoughts to the present, she observed that Dream Zuko was indeed shirtless, but like she had never seen before. Instead of red trousers, he had a hastily wrapped shawl around his waist and sealskin socks on his feet. It was such a bizarre dream she was having to create a version of Zuko she wouldn’t easily recognize. His hair was longer and flatter, shoulders broader than ever, and—there was a scar, _another_ scar, starburst and looking awfully like it came from lightning, spreading from the middle of Zuko’s torso outward with the same pink branches that spiralled from Aang’s back.

In that moment, there was a yell of “KATARA!” and a familiar yellow and orange blur came flying through the curtain. But when it came to a halt, rooted and poised to attack, Aang was _not_ quite so familiar. His determined eyes seemed smaller, his set jaw sharper. There was no other way to put it: Aang looked _older._ Katara could probably dream up a Zuko with longer hair and a new scar, but she didn’t think she was capable of dreaming up this.

...Maybe, just _maybe_ , she had woken up in the future. That was what happened to Aang with the iceberg, wasn’t it? After a hundred years?

“Um,” the object of her musings said. Aang was crouched like he was expecting adversary, but the only things he battled were stares. He straightened comically. Katara didn’t know what was more reeling: the deepness of his voice or the spurt of height.

“I’ll just, see myself out... then?” Aang pivoted on tiptoe and made an awkward, lanky step for the curtained door, whispering a dragged out, still deep, “Sorry!”

He didn’t get to finish they “eee” sound. In that second, Zuko shouted “AVATAR!” and tackled him to the rug-covered ground.

They were wrestling, and kicking, and noisy, and _irritating._ Between nearly-nude-Zuko’s shawl flutters and older-Aang’s incessant apologetic cries, something inside Katara _snapped_.

“Out.” She commanded, drawing herself up. “OUT. Everyone. GET! OUT!”

Zuko went from grabbing after Aang—who, in the moment of distraction, leapt from under Zuko’s slackened hold to zoom back through the curtain—to gaping at her. “But—!”

“I said OUT!”

“I— You can’t—” Flared nostrils smoked. ”I need clothes!”

No sooner had he said that than a red shirt smacked Zuko’s equally red face. Katara followed the projectile up with a toss of two layers of red and navy pants she had found crumpled up next to the sleeping bag—she was _very determinedly_ not thinking about the implications—and both pants hit Zuko with a satisfying _flop._ Next flew the bigger of two tidily folded parkas, which he, while hopping the navy pants on, dodged.

“FASTER,” she barked. He was still barrelling his head into the parka when he disappeared through the curtained door.

The curtain swished. There was a grunt and Aang’s low shout and running. The footsteps quieted, and suddenly she was jarringly, wrong-footedly alone.

Katara numbly went through the motions of dressing herself. Splashed herself with half-frozen water from the basin, donned fresh clothing from the clean basket. Even this routine was strange, because her body was traitorously _different_. A scar here, wider attributes there, and was her mind playing tricks? She was taller! At least her mother’s necklace had never left her collarbone. Then, after doing her epically tangled hair with the whalebone comb and beads, she went around the room, numbly tossing clothing from the ground into the laundry.

 _It’s like picking up after Sokka_ , she told herself as she held up the shawl, a sarashi, and the red undershorts in a corner, the latter shocking in all the white and brown and blue. _I’m picking up after that lazy brother of mine. Like always_ , she insisted, to keep herself sane.

She pointedly did not look at the bed, which she had realized, was made for two.

All too soon, the room was tidy. There were boots by the door. She stuffed her feet into them and found a perfect fit. Finally, she took a deep breath and stepped through the curtain.

Her dad stood there, tall and cutting in the whiteness.

“Everything alright?” he said, concern in his blue eyes. _Familiar_ blue eyes. Her dad’s face was completely unchanged, from the shape of his beard to the lines on his forehead. The relief ramming into her was so palpable she could cry. A wave in rose in response, longing to release _everything_ turbulently swirling in her mind.

Then her dad spoke, and she knew it was him that spoke even when the words _couldn’t_ be his because his mouth and his voice were in sync. “I’ve never seen you turn out Zuko like that,” Dad said, like it was perfectly normal for a boy she had hardly begun to be friends with to, in every sense of the phrase, share her bed. Fatherly brown brows pinched together. “Is something the matter?”

All the anxious words Katara had been about to unload unto her dad jammed in her throat.

Nothing escaped except a single “nope.” She winced. “Everything’s fine. Perfectly fine.” And hoped it sounded convincing.

Dad searched her face, so she tried for a reassuring smile. At last, he stopped and drew her into a hug. “La knows I needed someone to talk to whenever Kya and I had a falling out. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she squeaked against his shoulder. Her heart pounded like a landslide in her ears, and a distant corner of her brain that hadn’t exploded marveled that she really _did_ get taller.

“Okay,” he said, clearly not believing her but stepping back to give her space. “I’ll be at the bay if you need me. Or your Gran-gran, she’s at the cooking fire.”

“Okay, Dad,” she said, and congratulated herself for not passing out.

Her knees nearly give way as her dad let go. His figure disappeared through an open doorway to the right—she didn’t realize there _was_ a doorway—and later, all noises of his presence faded, too. She stood there in the silence for who knew how long, clutching her mother’s necklace with bone white knuckles. In her mind, the events of today and the last month played on repeat. She was torn between wanting to laugh or cry or die.

She shook her head and took a deep breath to collect herself. The strangeness all around her itched. Itched, until it wasn’t just itching but grating, grinding at her core and filling her with the need for _someone_ , someone _normal._

Gran-gran was a good idea. Gran-gran was early at the cooking fire, as ever, and would set Katara to chores, as usual. Gran-gran wouldn’t pry or waste words on frivolities. She was untouchable, calm, and safe.

Katara just had to find her.

Katara retraced the steps her dad took and guessed her way through the rest of the home of ice walls—had Master Pakku’s rebuilding team made them a house? It was huge!—and stepped outside.

She immediately went back in, tripping over her favorite worn polarbear-dog rug in the process, and—for the nth time since waking up in this crazy world—screamed.

...

Elsewhere, Sokka‘s head lolled. “No potty breaks,” he mumbled, and blissfully snored on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been stalking on fanfiction.net and AO3 for _years_ , and today I finally decided to finish writing what I want to read and _post_ it. This will be my first fleshed-out fanfic, so please drop a comment!


	2. Blink to Make it a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I’m beginning to understand what veteran writers mean by the length chapters getting away from them. On the bright side, the next chapter will be up soon enough.
> 
> Enjoy the show!

“Katara,” he said, and she gasped.

“Master Pakku!” She flung herself into his arms. With the way she was hugging him, he could have sworn she was holding on for dear life.

A soft smile settled on his face. Five years ago that would have been unheard of, but Katara always seemed to accomplish the impossible. He hugged her back. “I didn’t think you missed me _that_ much.”

“I did,” she replied, and he stroked her braid.

After a perfect minute where he simply basked in the blessing of holding a granddaughter, he tugged her chin up. The corner of his mouth rose when eyes like Kanna’s met his. “Come on, my favorite student. It’s time to show this old master what you’ve got.”

They stepped outside into the slowly dawning light. From the chief’s hill, one could see the entire city coming alive. It wasn’t as grand as the capital of the Northern Water Tribe and would never be, but that was fine. The quaintness was serene.

Figures in varying hues and shades of blue stirred about. Igloos and buildings crafted a beautiful cityscape, which, Pakku had to admit, was enhanced by the three-story ice tower his grandson called a fort.

They avoided the bustle by walked along the quiet path to the sparring grounds. When they got to the walled ring, Pakku knelt by the semi-frozen water channel and touched a hand to the thin crust of ice. He breathed out slowly. Along the circumference of the ring, white frost melted into transparent liquid.

He stood and turned to Katara. Together, they went through the stretches and basic warm-ups. Pakku then beckoned at her to begin the spar, ready to be amazed. He parried and redirected and returned, waiting for that stroke of Katara genius to manifest. Not so long after the unoriginal first strike, however, the old master was forced to acknowledge that his granddaughter was being... underwhelming.

She didn’t manage to redirect his biggest waves or stop his ice, and she completely failed to freeze the edges of her water whips on impact. When she flopped the powerful whirling spout that she used to perform flawlessly, Pakku had had _enough_.

He dropped his arms. “What. Was. _That_.”

It killed him inside to see the delight on her face, no matter how out of place, transform to wide-eyed hurt. It wasn’t hard to imagine why. After all, he hadn’t used this disgusted tone on her since her first and only slacking back at the North Pole.

Nevertheless, he wouldn’t letup.

“Has your time in the Fire Nation _weakened_ you? Were you so busy playing politician that you hadn’t the time to have your skill maintained? I thought you wanted to be a waterbending warrior, not a housewife!”

“I—“

“You are growing arrogant,” he pronounced and turned his back. “Do the exercises on powered control and repeat all the advanced to master sets until the sun peaks. And for Tui’s sake, strike your water whips with ice!” He finished his barked command and exhaled out the heat in his tone. Then, he continued, calm, and cold. ”At noon I shall return and expect that you will get the King Whale’s Calling _right_.”

As he walked away, the crunch of boots on snow the only sound in a barren land, he reassured himself. Better she was hurt by _him_ than by a hostile nation’s _assassins._

The assurances were true. They didn’t make her devastated expression haunt his thoughts any less.

...

Katara screamed, again.

...

“You know,” said the Avatar. ”This is starting to get uncomfortable.”

Zuko readjusted his grip on long legs and snarled. “It would be less uncomfortable if you’d just _shut up_.”

It was _almost_ silent in this white wasteland as they walked towards the only visible red spot for miles. Or rather, Zuko was walking. The Avatar was slumped over Zuko’s shoulder.

To his back, the post-pubescent Avatar moaned. “Why, oh, why did I hand you your shoes? I should have hidden them right away. I had a schedule! Penguin sledding at daybreak, tiger-seal hopping after breakfast...”

Zuko tried to ignore the earful of babbling. With the roaring of his own thoughts, it shouldn’t have been hard.

“...cave exploring after lunch... Oh hey, you should come with me, Zuko! I bet you’d _love_ to sneak around the hidden tunnels.”

Zuko... _would_. It sounded like thrilling physical challenges and stealthy ninja fun. Then he grew angry with himself for considering it, so, with a finesse born of practice, he channeled those negative feelings.

At the nearest available target.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” he demanded, dropping the Avatar vindictively to the snow. His aching shoulder thanked him because that kid had _grown_. The snow, on the other hand, gave no indication. The boy— _teen_ , he had to be at least _Zuko’s_ age now—landed as lightly as if he didn’t exist at all.

Stupid airbender.

Said airbender clasped his hands together in plea, grey eyes coordinating. “Look, I’m _sorry._ I thought she was in trouble! I never would have barged in like that otherwise, I _swear_.“ He sounded very stressed as he said this. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

Which was great and all, but not the explanation Zuko was looking for.

Frustration mounting, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Think. What was that Uncle had told him? Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness? Hmm... He needed answers, so maybe he should ask. “Avatar. Why am I here?”

“To fortify the bonds of family and friendship?” The incredulity Zuko felt must have shown on his face. The Avatar’s pitch climbed. “To create cultural unification? To strengthen the political image of the Fire Nation and the Water Tribes? _I don’t know_ , stop _looking_ at me like that!”

“Okay, fine! Tell me. Why are _you_ here?”

“I just wanted to hop on the tiger-seals!” the teen cried. His lib wobbled and his voice was not quite as high as the twelve-year-old’s in Zuko’s memory. “I get the point, okay! Okay?” Agitated clouds of snow surged around them. “I’ll bunk in Sokka’s fort!”

...

Inside Sokka’s fort, a snoring body fell from a chair to the floor.

“Hu? Wha?” A head of mussed brown hair shot up, sluggish arms poised to attack. When no assailants or a vengeful sister came, Sokka’s blearily blinking eyes focused on the environment.

There was more junk than he had ever _seen_ lying about. A lamp, boomerang, tapestry, wooden platform, fifty random different things which he could probably imagine a use for, and heaps upon heaps of parchment and scrolls.

His hands were also covered in these black glove things that were much thinner than mittens. They had individual fingers, and he wiggled them. Nice. Much more mobility and all the warmth.

But that didn’t tell him anything about where he was or how he ended up here. Was this a secret basement in the village he didn’t know about? Why would anyone hide it, especially when it had all this useful junk? He hummed, and crossed his arms, and stroked his chin for dramatic flair—

And was shocked when his gloved fingers met _hair_.

His fingers stilled. Carefully, oh so carefully, as if one wrong move would cause it to fall off (Let it never be said that Sokka didn’t learn from experience), he stroked again.

The hair—there was _more than one._

“I HAVE A BEARD!”

_Crash bang thud_

Oops.

_Boom_

He might have knocked a _few_ things over in his little celebration. A jar was still rolling with a _shhng shhng_. He gently kicked it away and was surprised to see it shoot off in pile of who-knew-what. And wait... he didn’t only have outward signs of strength. He... _felt_ different. Heavier. Taller. _Musclier_.

He patted his legs. Patted his chest. Shoved off his parka and saw his arms—

“AHHHHH! The manliness! I can’t...” and _swoon_. He hit the rug and sighed blissfully, kissing his bulging bicep in adoration. “I am _exquisite_.”

For a moment he lay in the fur in silence, nuzzling his muscles contentedly as they stretched and bulged. Suddenly, there was a sound and a movement—

“I’m not flexing!” he yelped, shooting up.

 _Chitter_ , the intruder replied, cocking big white ears to the side.

“Oh.” Sokka clutched the heart that was doing its best to break his ribcage. “Thank the stars you’re not Katara.” When his spirits had recovered enough, he added, “You look tasty.”

 _Screech,_ Tiny Meat Source agreed, and jumped on the wooden platform.

Sokka hadn’t paid the platform much mind earlier aside to note that it led to a hole in the ceiling and was strung up with some good rope. But then Tiny Meat Source pulled a little lever he hadn’t noticed, and the platform started moving _down._ Sokka hastily grabbed his parka and scrambled on, and learned that the room he woke up in couldn’t be a basement because the front door in this new room below it declared it as the first floor.

And it _was_ a door. Not a flap curtain or a snow-packed hole. Like the platform, it was made of unfamiliar wood. Sokka took a deep breath and, on the count of three, pulled it open. Tiny Meat Source scampered off before him, but that hardly mattered anymore. When the door swung, Sokka stilled.

The village—it was almost like it had been before Mom’s death. No—it was _better_.

The paved white road widened to an open square around which stalls and benches and fountains sprawled. Light snow fell upon canopies in hues from cerulean to violet as well as on the blocky buildings and softer domed igloos that rose around them. In the other direction, side streets converged to elaborate steps that led up to the grandest building of all, a magnificent many-part structure that boasted the Southern Water Tribe insignia above its great ice doors.

A bare whisper escaped Sokka’s lips. “Woah.”

“Rise and shine, Sokka! You’re up early, for you!”

He whirled. Coming down the street with the polar-dog claw necklace, was that...? “Ratuk! You’re here! I haven’t seen you since—”

“Since you shut yourself in that fort of yours? You really gotta come out more!” the big man slapped him in the back, and Sokka was surprised to find that he didn’t stagger. “I know you’re earning loads making those plans of yours, but we’re starting to miss our little war hero.”

“Hwa?“

Ratuk sighed. “It seems like just yesterday you were that tiny little runt playing warrior and tagging after us all. Now, you’re all grown up and more famous than any of us.“

Sokka had went from offended to overwhelmed. It was a good thing that the man—who didn’t seem so big anymore, to Sokka’s amazement—spoke again, because Sokka was speechless. “Well, I’ll be going. The fish won’t catch themselves.”

Then Ratuk, one of Sokka’s childhood idols, weathered and burly from days sailing and hunting and fighting, held out his hand for the fellow warrior’s greeting.

He was holding out for the warrior’s greeting, and he was holding it out to _Sokka_.

Stupefied, Sokka took it.

The clasp of calloused fingers on the base of his forearm and his own hand’s returning grip was _invigorating_. It lasted only a moment. When it was over, Ratuk was walked away.

Dumbly, Sokka took a step. And another step. Faster. Soon, he was running, dashing through the streets, leaping and whooping and all around rejoicing. Oh, did people look on to laugh? Let them! Let everyone rejoice!

When the sheer glee finally wore off and transformed into exultant confidence, Sokka strutted around town, taking in the sights. A tannery, a playground, even a market! He hollered to people he knew by name and cheerfully greeted a good day to those he didn’t. He may have lost count of the number of men he had seen, but what truly blew him away was the fact that _they_ saw _him_.

He was a man now. Sokka could cry.

That wasn’t to say that this wondrous dream wasn’t full of other delights. One particularly joyous occasion was when an _entire group of girls_ waved at him from a fountain ledge. “Hi Sokka!” they chorused, batting their eyelashes. With a dorky smile on his face, Sokka waved back.

“Hello, ladies.” He swaggered up to them. Time to turn on the charm. “How are you doing on this...” click of the tongue and flourish, hands suavely pointing, “...fine morning?”

They giggled. Sokka had never heard a sweeter sound.

“Good,” “Nice,” “Very well,” they answered and abruptly _exploded_ into questions.

“Why were you so worked up earlier? Did you hit another _eureka?_ ”

“How’s you’re girlfriend? The Kyoshi Warrior?” He vaguely wondered how the two were related but dismissed that thought for _oh sweet whale blubber_ he had a _girlfriend!_

“Ooh, ooh, tell us about that time you saved an Earth Kingdom village!”

Now this was all extremely flattering but he was being a _little_ bombarded here so if his brain could just lay out all these wonderful surprises _slowly_ —

Then, the sweetest sound Sokka had ever heard just got a worthy contender.

“Fresh meat!” a woman’s voice called. “Whale blubber, sea-bird chowder, come and eat!”

Trying not to show his impatience, he turned to his adoring crowd. “Ladies, ladies. You’ll get your fill of Sokka soon enough. But first, Sokka has to fill _himself_ up.”

He ran faster than he thought was possible. Sure enough, next to a woman tending to a stove was, bar the feast in the festivals of plentiful years long gone, the finest selection of both raw and cooked meats that Sokka had ever seen.

He immediately grabbed some assorted seafood-on-a-stick and chomped. Then he grabbed another, and another, and ten more, because even if he hadn’t been meat-starved, this tasted _amazing._

The woman bearing the food—Sokka didn’t recognize her—looked worried. “Are you sure you should be eating so quickly? You don’t seem to be swallowing.”

“It’s okay,” he rambled in between gulps. “My digestion works fast. Mmm, this is _so_ good. Do you have more?”

Eventually, he learned that he had to _pay_ for the delicious meat, and his perfect dream became not so perfect after all.

...

This was a ruse, Zuko decided. A convoluted plot to lure him into a fall sense of security, embarrass him and, and make him out to be a traitor for _fraternizing with the enemy_ , all so he would permanently lose his place in the line of succession!

Azula must be behind this!

He wasn’t sure _how_ Azula manipulated him and that waterbender— _Katara_ , his treacherous mind supplied—into—into _sleeping_ together, but he was fairly certain that she did. After all, it wasn’t enough that his sister was a prodigy. She was a people person, too. She was probably sitting back, laughing at him as she had her nails done, comfortably warm in a luxury sauna inside that... pointy oval... _thing._

The thing hadn’t been strange from a distance in the half-light. However, by the time he rounded a hill a hundred meters away or so, sun well in the sky, it became undeniable that the hulking, red-and-black object was _not_ his ship, and wasn’t a ship in the first place.

Feeling dumb—Azula’s work, _clearly_ —Zuko turned and stalked in another direction.

“Um,” said the Avatar timidly, dragged by the wrists. He jerked his arrowed head to the side. “The city is _that_ way.”

He was ignored.

After what felt like an hour of walking in awkward silence, Zuko began to hear sounds of human life. Zuko may have refused to move as Aang directed—a city of enemy savages didn’t sound like much of a refuge—but he really didn’t want to get stranded on a desert of ice.

An enraged yell and an almighty _splash_ later, Zuko prayed that whoever it was was friendly.

They curved around the elliptical ice wall that blocked their view. When they rounded the bend to the ring’s open doorway, there was one person there.

“...id old man, I’ll show him—wAH!”

He took it back. Give him the Kyoshi warriors, give him _Zhao_ , give him any of the millions of unfriendly people on the planet. Just don’t make it _her._

Katara stepped towards them. He froze. The Avatar dashed. Zuko lunged for him but only found wind. _Don’t leave me alone with her_ , his dismayed thoughts called. But the Avatar was far gone.

He swallowed. Facing his problems head on had worked for him before, right? Well, sometimes. He took a deep breath and pivoted. He wouldn’t flinch, he wouldn’t flinch—she was so _close_ —ah, he flinched.

“Hi,” Katara said, as if she didn’t want him castrated.

“Hi,” he said, speaking to her shoulder. When the image of it bare against white fur popped into his mind, he cast his gaze the ground.

“Look, Z-Zuko, um...“ There was silence, and he resisted the urge to look to make sure that she wasn’t about to stab him. Eyes on the ground. Wasn’t that lump of ice interesting? Katara’s voice rose. “What date is it?”

It might have as well been a stab. Still not looking. “...Beats me.”

“Oh. Can you give me an estimate, then? Week, month...” He didn’t know, didn’t _know._ Couldn’t she have asked anyone _else?_ The final blow came. “...Year?”

Okay, now he looked, because she was _onto_ him. His eyes narrowed, and his feet shifted to ready for confrontation. He lifted his chin and loomed. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing!” she squeaked, and then cringed. “Nothing! I... just...”

He was amazed to see her bury her face in her hands and stomp off. Before he could recover, she stormed back up to him like a whiplash, red cheeks puffed and _too close_.

His mind went into overdrive at her proximity then blanked at her words.

She wailed. “I don’t remember anything!” _What?_ “One minute we were camping out together to defeat the Fire Lord, and the next we’re married and you’re in my bed!”

 _Defeat the Fire Lord,_ she said. Then _married_ , she said.

She was still talking, something about the war and relationships and winning. He couldn’t hear her because the echoes in his head were too loud.

_We’re married and you’re—_

_Defeat the Fire Lord—_

_Together to defeat—_

_Married in my bed—_

She was bound to a tree. He dangled a choker in front of her throat. She said it was her mother’s; Uncle said it was for betrothals.

He showed it to the bounty hunter. Jun had a cool tone.

_What happened, your girlfriend run off on you?_

_So this is your girlfriend._

Something prickled at the back of Zuko’s senses. It was too quiet. Girlfriend wasn’t talking anymore. Girlfriend was biting her lip, expectant. He should say something to Girlfriend.

He moved his mouth to speak and found that it was already open. Then he moved his throat to make a sound and found that someone had beaten him to it.

“YOU,” a man howled. _Annoying_ , Zuko recalled.

The next thing he knew was a fall and a world of _PAIN_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was both excruciating and absolutely glee-inducing to write.
> 
> What happened to Zuko? What became of Sokka? Will Katara ever stop screaming? Find out in the next chapter of _A Healthy Dose of Forgetfulness!_


	3. Pinching Doesn’t Change Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chaos-seekers, this one’s for you.
> 
> Warning: Mature themes, f bombs, and a bloodthirsty Sokka

_Ten minutes ago_

Maybe his digestion worked a little _too_ fast because soon, Sokka was running for a toilet.

Unfortunately, the outhouse was _nowhere to be seen_ , so a hurried question on prancing feet had him ushered to a small building.

The building was a bathroom. An actual _bathroom_ with a water heater and a...

Wait for it.

A _working plumbing system_.

Hallelujah!

He had just finished his business and was retying his belt when the wooden main door reopened. Footsteps drifted past the cubicle curtain into his ear, along with a rather intriguing discussion.

“...too bossy and manly of course, but wow she is _hot_. You know, I walked in on her in the female’s bathroom once.”

“No!” was the gleeful reply. Securely hidden inside his cubicle, Sokka edged closer.

“Pretended I mixed their bathroom up with this one. She didn’t buy it, and I almost got buried in ten feet of snow. Totally worth it because _man_.” He whistled lowly. “Fire Lord Zuko’s got it _good_.”

 _Fire Lord?!_ So startled was Sokka that he almost banged his head. He caught the tail end of the second boy’s snicker. “I bet he bangs her into submission every night.”

 _“Ohh, Lord Zuko_ ,” came the most suggestive falsetto Sokka had ever heard. “ _Please—aah! Be gentle..._ ”

“Hahaha, nice one! Just _imagine_ Katara go—“

The fantasizing pervert didn’t get to finish that sentence because Sokka swiped the curtain open, face twisted for _murder_. “What. Is this. About Katara?”

The young men started like doomed rabbit-birds in a hunter’s sight. “S-sokka!“ the leering pervert said, voice still stuck in falsetto. “H-how’s it going?!”

Sokka would Deal With Him, but for now, he had a bigger fish to fry.

...

_Two minutes ago_

Aang thanked the spirits, not for the first time, that he was an airbender. It really helped that you could run like the wind when you needed to escape enemies. Or worse, wrathful friends.

In the middle of the icy city, a wolf-tailed figure did more than the customary greet, wave, and/or stare curiously. “You! Eng! Where is my sister?”

“Hi Sokka,” he panted. “She’s at the sparring ring, but I wouldn’t go there if I were you. I... might have made her and Zuko really mad this morning.”

Sokka stormed up to him, expression thunderous. “Zuko? As in _Fire Lord_ Zuko? He’s _with her?_ ”

Uhh. “Yes..?”

Aang was yanked by the robes. “ _Take me to them NOW._ ”

That snarl was more frightening than _Zuko’s_.

...

_No minutes ago_

“YOU,” Sokka howled, and crashed into the firebender. The scar face, the home wrecker, the _fucking pervert_.

Scar Face stumbled to the ground with little resistance, and Sokka wasted no time in _stomping_ him in the groin. As the firebender spasmed with a high keening sound, Sokka dropped onto caribuffalo-skin-clad knees—bullied clothes from the hardworking women, most probably—and found the hilt of his knife. For a moment he paused, wondering whether it was more strategic to chop off the fucker’s fingers or his dick first.

Well, the fingers were in the way of the dick, so there he had his answer.

But just as Sokka unsheathed and lifted the blade, appreciating the glint of good steel in the sun, he was blown away by a violent forceful torrent. Burning, he was _burning._ He didn’t know the firebender had _backup_ —

Wait. The torrent was pouring around him and became solid. He was frozen in a block of _ice_.

Yet waterbending traitors became the least of his worries when he looked up and saw the sight.

Scar Face was curled on the ground and whimpering—nice—but against all common sense, Katara moved _towards_ him.

“Katara, what the blizzard’s name are you doing? Run! Get _away!_ ”

“Why, so you can _stab_ him?” she shrieked. “I saw the knife, Sokka! How could you _hurt him_ like that?!”

“How could I _hurt him_ like that? How could I _not_ hurt him! Katara—no— _don’t you dare_ —STOP!”

She was choosing the _worst possible time_ to do her sisterly duty of contradicting him because her hovering hesitation disappeared, and she slid her hand inside Scar Face’s pants.

“Katara _NO!_ ”

“Will you _SHUT. UP?_ ”

He stared, breathing hard, as his baby sister _fondled_ the firebender right before his eyes. He couldn’t even turn away because his head was stuck in the ice!

“That’s it,” he said, when she slipped her hand out. Scar Face was breathing easier now, the sick bastard. “He’s corrupted you. You’ve been Fire Nation _brainwashed_.”

“I’m with Katara on this one, Sokka,” a boy’s voice said shakily.

“You!” He tried to whip his head around, but it was still stuck. In his periphery, Uung—Eng— _whatever_ took a stand. “Some Avatar you are! Freeze me with your magic water while I’m trying to protect my sister from the Fire Nation, will you? You’re on his side!”

“You lost my support when you turned to _violence_ , Sokka! You could have really hurt Zuko!”

“That was the _point!_ “

Eng tromped over and faced him with disappointed eyes. “ _Why?_ ” he demanded. “What did he do that was _so bad?_ ”

“What did he do? _What did he do?_ “ Sokka roared. “He turned my _sister_ into his _plaything_ , and she doesn’t even MIND!”

 _Mind, mind_ the walls echoed. Everyone, even the feebly propped up Zuko, gawked at him.

“I heard the rumors, Katara. They gossip about you! I didn’t want to believe them, but what else can I do when you present me with the evidence yourself!”

His sister’s grip tightened on Zuko’s shoulder. She hissed. “There were more pants underneath, for your information. _I didn’t touch it._ ”

“And that’s supposed to make it better?”

“In the first place, it was _your fault!_ What’s wrong with you? I thought you liked Zuko!”

“ _Liked_ Zuko?” Okay, she wasn’t corrupted. She was _insane_. “When was that supposed to happen? Was it when he destroyed my watchtower? Or when he broke my spear? Oh, wait, I know. It was when he _manhandled_ Gran-Gran!”

“What about, oh, I don’t know. When he helped you _rescue_ Dad and Suki from prison!”

“What are you talking about?” Sokka scoffed. “ _Rescue Dad?_ And who’s Suki?!”

Something changed in Katara’s expression, like sunlight gliding till it gleamed on an icicle. The fight went out of her, her eyebrows rose, and her mouth made an “o”.

“What,” Sokka snapped. The ice was _really cold._

...

“I’ll believe it when I hear it from Dad,” he had said. And smirked as the Avatar transported Scar Face away on an ice sled. And began to panic that he’d be stuck in his own ice and die of hypothermia. Katara did a wavy motion that took away all the water and a glowy thing that forestalled the creeping frostbite, and he had never felt so thankful for Katara’s magic water skills as he did in that moment. _Then_ he learned that it was _she_ who had iced him in the first place because she threatened to do it again. Ugh. Whatever. It still was his win, obviously. Dad hadn’t been home for two _years_ and wouldn’t be for who knew how long—

Dad was here _._

Sokka could slap his brain. The men were here. Of _course_ Dad was, too.

“Sokka,” the physical embodiment of his logical failure said, calloused fingers massaging hard at weathered temples. “Your sister and Zuko are _married_. I’d appreciate it if you don’t deprive the Fire Lord of heirs.”

With all the adrenaline gone, Sokka’s teeth were chattering. He sniffed and scooted closer to the fire, hardly caring if his outermost layer of blankets got burned. “T-that would solve all our p-p-p-problems, wouldn’ttt it? The Fire Nation would plunge intuh—intuh civil war!”

“There’s peace now, Sokka. We don’t want that.”

“Buttt we _do_ want Ka-ta-ra at the mercy of those murrrderers? At _Z-zuko_ no less? He crashed intu-into the village, Dad! Terrif-f-fied everyone, _manhandled Gran-gran!_ Th-the only good thing that woulddd c-come out of dis is if Ka-t-tara could keep him in check or t-turn him...in... our favor...” He shot to his feet and did _not_ stumble. He then poked a lone finger through the blankets at the person of whom he had thought that being a great chief didn’t make him less of a father. “You _used_ her, didn’d you. _You sold her off!_ ”

“For your information,” Hakoda said coldly, and Sokka recoiled. “Zuko only asked me for my blessing. Accepting the proposal was entirely Katara’s choice. She _wanted_ to marry him.”

Sokka sat down heavily, five layers of fur smooshing with him. In them, he buried his face. His teeth were no longer chattering, but the snot was flowing faster than he could sniff. Katara _wanted_ to marry a firebender. A royal power abuser, no less. “I dond udderstand.”

His father sighed. “Just how much have you forgotten, Sokka?”

“Eberyding imbordand, id seebs.” Surely this was all still a dream?

“Well then, you would do well to remember this. _Zuko is a good man._ He helped end the war. He fights for peace. He loves Katara and makes her happier than any other can. And she loves _him_.”

Dream-dad’s commanding voice wasn’t getting to him. It _wasn’t._ This couldn’t be real anyway. Maybe going with the flow would make things easier, change the resistance. “She’s nuds.”

Dad chuckled. “Perhaps they both are, a little. But that’s love.” His dad quirked a brow. “I seem to remember _you_ being crazy in love for someone. Or did you forget that as well?”

Sokka shot to his feet, and okay, fine, _maybe_ he stumbled. A little. “Is dis my girlfrien? _Who?_ She’s preddy, righ?”

Dark blue eyes rolled. “Find out yourself.”

“Da~ _aad!_ ” Sokka whined, but it was a manly whine. “This is perdinend ibformation! You can’d keep dis fom me!”

“Go bother your sister. And apologize to Zuko!”

“Neber!” he shouted to his dad’s retreating back. He huffed and stewed in place, snorting up snot. Not for the first time, he reflected on the weirdness of his subconscious.

“Waid. ID HER NAME SOO-KI?”

...

Zuko didn’t usually count himself lucky, but this time he did. He was lucky.

Lucky that Water Tribe warriors didn’t wear steel-reinforced boots.

Gah. The universe hated him.

Was this the kind of honorless scum-of-the-earth he had become? That warriors won’t let him keep his basic dignity? His abdomen was still throbbing despite the healer’s attention. Even Azula at the height of immaturity hadn’t kicked so hard.

A cup of hot _something_ being pressed into his hands broke through his morose thoughts. “Drink,” the hovering old woman ordered. Zuko decided it was better not to resist.

He sipped the unidentified liquid, which was actually pretty good. Definitely better than tea. Zuko peered at the elderly woman, wondering what she was doing with a non-tea beverage. She seemed... familiar...

Oh no.

When she turned to him again, he bowed till he could see nothing but his legs and the furs he sat on. “I’m so, so sorry, ma’am,” he said contritely and hoped that she was more like his uncle.

She tsked. Zuko readied himself a hard rap or worse, but it never came. Instead, she deadpanned, “How many times do I have to tell you. Call me Gran-Gran.”

Katara—Girlfriend—his _wife_ —giggled. It wasn’t mocking like Azula’s. More like Ty Lee’s but less... gormless.

“Sorry,” she said and sounded almost like she meant it. “I’ve never seen you interact nicely with Gran-Gran before.”

“Believe me, he had to interact nicely with me a hundred times before I gave my approval.”

His—his wife blushed. Right. They were married, and she was almost as lost as he was. She was also being amazingly meek, for her. “About that... How did that... happen, exactly?”

She was peering at him from under long eyelashes. Alarmed, Zuko looked to Gran-Gran. She didn’t disappoint.

“You were two star-crossed lovers who overcame the raging storms of war and the boundless oceans of prejudice to find each other.” Her voice was masterfully dry. Zuko would be impressed if he wasn’t so mortified. The old woman continued, “At least, that’s how Pakku likes to tell it. The way I see it, you overcame your differences. You saved each other’s lives. You fell in love. It helps that you are beautiful and that you are a hunk.”

“Gran-Gran!” Katara said, strangled. Zuko pounded on his chest to forcefully cough the liquid out of his windpipe.

The devilish woman’s eyes twinkled. “Do you want me to tell you about the night after your engagement party? I was just down the hall. I could have sworn I saw—“

“NO!”

In the wake of their combined shout, Katara stood, quick as a startled puma-cat. “I’m going to talk to Aang!” she announced. The curtain flapped, and Zuko was left alone with an old woman that may or may not be worse than his uncle.

“Want some more hot cocoaberry?”

“Yes, please,” he said meekly and held the cup out. She stared at him without taking it. “...Gran-Gran?” he added, hoping he read her right.

Satisfied, she ladled the thick hot drink from the pot. Steam flooded the dry air in droves. As she handed him back a filled cup, Zuko decided that Gran-Gran served him something better than tea, ergo she was better than Uncle.

Heavy footsteps approached, and Katara and Sokka’s father walked in. “Just to clarify,” the father-slash-chief said. His face was pinched, and his temples were oddly red as he sat on the furs beside Zuko. “Anyone _else_ lose their memory?”

“Nope,” Zuko said and sipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That... that just happened.
> 
> Moral of the story: Don’t be a pervert, for Zuko’s sake.


	4. Nightmares are King

They had won. They had won the war, won _peace_ , and they were all still alive and practically unscathed. It was her greatest hope come true, yet there was a little blip she didn’t know how to feel about. As Aang had explained, even _Ozai_ wasn’t dead.

Katara had taken to staying at Sokka’s place overnight as she reeled with discovery, experienced joy, and grappled with out-of-place _loss_. She couldn’t express how grateful she was that some things never changed. Her sloth of a brother still slept on even after Aang’s rackety entrance come morning. Good thing, too, because the elevating contraption he had instead of stairs was not just an engineering marvel, but an aspiring eardrum-breaker too.

She did her hair as Aang sat across the third floor bedroom, once thin little limbs long and filled out with muscle. He was older than _she_ was now. Maybe the same age as Haru or Zuko—the Zuko she remembered, anyway.

Older-Aang’s soft, handsome voice carried. “I wanted it to be us, you know.”

“I know.” She ducked her head. Hopefully her hands and braid hid her blush.

He wasn’t done. “If I hadn’t been so insensitive, would I have had a chance?”

“I don’t know, Aang.” She always seemed to say that, didn’t she? “I don’t even know _why_ all... this happened.”

Aang sighed. It blew a gust that ruffled the strand of hair that she was beading. “I do. At least partially.” He leaned back on his hands and looked up. “Zuko always respected your space and your opinions. He helped you face the man who killed your mother.”

“I remember _that_.“

“Yeah. But do you remember when he took the lightning to protect you?“

A standstill. A flash. A harrowing scream. _NO._

A bead fell from her hands and _clinked_ on the floor. “I remember.”

“What?” He looked at her, brow furrowing deeply. “I thought—“

“I remember!” The play, Aang’s disappearance, the Agni Kai, those terrible days willing Zuko _not to die_ and waiting, waiting in the dark for news that they were _alive_...

Nothing.

“That’s as far as it goes,” she whispered.

The memories were coming back, but if they had lost _years_ , they were coming far too slow.

...

Sokka finally accepted that this wasn’t all a dream when he woke up to the teenage Avatar’s looming face.

“Good morning, Sokka!” he chirped, bent inches over Sokka’s prone form. Age hadn’t dulled his dazzling personality.

“Hi, Aang,” he deadpanned. He dragged out the “a” sound to wash Aang in the fragrance of his morning breath.

Teenage Aang’s nose scrunched magnificently, then he gasped. “You said my name right!”

“What? I always...” No. “I _didn’t_.”

Sokka sat up, barely avoiding knocking his forehead on the teenage boy’s chin. “You’re the Avatar,” he said, on a roll. “You did this gigantic waterbending spout that crashed Zuko’s ship. You brought us to the Southern Air Temple, and you saw Gyatso, then you went ballistic.”

“...Yeah.”

“Wow. Okay. I am not crossing you again.”

“No, that’s okay. I can control my Avatar State now. I mean!“ Aang crossed his arms and lifted his chin. Since he was standing and Sokka was sitting, Sokka can be excused for finding it intimidating. “I control the Avatar State, thus I can go ballistic anytime I want. So. I really suggest that you keep me _happy_.”

Yeah, okay, this wasn’t a dream. It was a _nightmare._

...

Zuko had always known that this was real.

Call it pessimism, call it fatalism. Zuko called it being right. It wouldn’t be the first time he had his entire life upheaved overnight.

Granted, he actually knew how it happened the last time, even if he didn’t understand _why._

All things considered, this new situation was almost... nice.

Not the cold, Agni, he hated the cold. Nor the pervasive agitation he felt at being, both figuratively and literally, out of his element. But the people. The _people_ were nice. Unless they were Sokka, but Sokka was thoroughly upfront about it. The people were genuine, and often genuinely on the friendly side.

There was that healer who ensured that Sokka’s kick hadn’t dealt him lasting damage. She must have felt the humiliation radiating off of him in waves and decided to take pity. There was Gran-Gran, but he chalked that up to her being old. There was Katara, but it wasn’t like she knew what to do with the situation either. Then, there was Hakoda.

There wasn’t a but _anything._

He was a respected chief. He was a hardened warrior. He was the father of an only favored daughter.

Zuko couldn’t grasp it. Maybe it was political?

Yet, politicians didn’t pull their sleeping bags into banished princes’ rooms at bedtime. They didn’t sleep by the door to guard against violent amnesiac sons. And they _certainly didn’t_ have heart-to-hearts in the lamplight about wives and loss and love.

Zuko put his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure if it was aching from the lack of sleep or the whirlpool of ruminations swirling dizzyingly in his mind.

Gran-Gran set a bowl and chopsticks in front of him. He mumbled a thanks. He didn’t feel like eating, plus the food looked _nasty_. He wished he had taken up Hakoda’s offer to hail the ship entering the harbor if only to skip breakfast. However, the sour-faced balding man who was probably Gran-Gran’s husband looked a great deal like he would take offense if the food was refused, so... Zuko took a bite.

Two chews in, he was struck by the fact that aside from being overly salty, the dish was familiar in a way that reminded him of _home_. The texture was completely off and it didn’t have enough spice, but there _was_ spice. Spice Zuko had craved and hadn’t tasted since his ship last stopped to restock at a major colony half a year ago.

Suddenly ravenous, he finished his bowl quickly and asked for another helping.

Gran-Gran’s eyes crinkled. “I thought you would enjoy it more if I added the special chili-garlic mix. Your Granpakku’s not a fan, but he’ll make do.”

“Hmph,” the old man said, swallowing a mouthful. “I would have preferred it if you used the teriyaki sauce. At least that won’t destroy my taste buds.”

“Don’t lie, you love teriyaki.” She lifted a hand to her mouth as she mock-confided to Zuko, “He’s too proud to admit he enjoys anything from the Fire Nation.”

“Excuse you, I am too proud to enjoy anything from _anywhere_. A true-blue Water Tribesman never finds his environment wanting.”

Gran-Gran rolled her light blue eyes. “Did you hear that? You can withdraw the teriyaki sauce from the trade agreements.”

As Granpakku—where had the ‘ku’ come from?—dignifiedly reminded her not to bother their grandson-in-law, Zuko confoundedly tuned the bickering old couple out. There hadn’t been any organized trade with the Water Tribes in _decades_. Even if there was, in order to affect it, Zuko needed political power.

Was he... no longer _banished?_

Did Father _forgive him?_

It... wasn’t _impossible_. Perhaps Father had seen his effort and granted him his honor back for that.

But, crown prince or not, there was _no way_ Father would have him marry in the Water Tribe. They were said to be savage, uncivilized. It would shame the entire royal family.

Not to mention the fact that he seemed to be _friends_ with the Avatar.

Had Zuko... turned his back on Father?

No. No. Of course not. He would never do that. Katara had said something about defeating the Fire Lord together, but Zuko was certain that of all things he must have imagined _that_.

He would _never_. Besides, Father was too strong. All the other nations were delusional for thinking that they could stop the Fire Nation, with or without the Avatar.

_The Avatar had stopped them, hadn’t he? At the North Pole? Such a terrifying force not even Father could stand it, leaving so many pale bodies to float. If Zhao hadn’t been such a self-aggrandizing idiot and Father hadn’t condoned—_

_Stop_. Just, stop. He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t think like that.

Maybe the Fire Nation had already won the war, or the Southern Water Tribe surrendered and the Avatar backed out. Then maybe trade negotiations started, and as part of a treaty Zuko married the chief’s daughter.

Maybe Father had been willing to give up a little honor for peace.

That sounded about as likely as Father saying that he _didn’t_ favor Azula over Zuko, but something had to make sense. Something that didn’t involve Zuko _changing_.

Yet, as Katara greeted him shyly while her father laughed and they sat down for breakfast, as the sour-faced Granpakku pressed a kiss to Gran-Gran’s lips before she shooed him off, and as the scent of spice and feeling of love stayed with Zuko even when he was ushered out, a traitorious voice in his heart said that it would be nice—

It would be nice to call this _home_.

...

There was a rhythym in graceful steps and a soft beat in a dozen foggy breaths. They harmonized with the mesmerizing push and pull of the water which sang a melodic _swish_ and _chink_. The Changing Glacier form had always been music to his ears—

“This is an abuse of power!”

—when it wasn’t barged in on by his cacophanous step-grandson.

Avatar Aang grinned cheekily as he floated after the stomping Sokka into the training grounds. He sing-songed, “You can’t impeach the Avatar~”

“Tyrant!“ Sokka sniffed. He coughed bison fur and spasmed the rest of it off.

Here was something he could berate the amnesiac idiot for. “Sokka, don’t waste the fur. Your grandmother uses it for her sewing projects.”

He whirled and jabbed a finger. “Who are _you_ supposed to be?”

It had been a very long time since anyone who wasn’t five had asked Pakku that. He raised a gray brow. “Someone who will disown you should you keep acting like a moron.” Yes, if Sokka‘s foolhardy actions proved to prevent the birth of great-grandchildren, he was revoking Granpakku rights.

Sokka’s jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me that in addition to the Avatar, Katara and I discovered our long-lost great-great-grandpa.”

Forget it. Pakku was revoking Granpakku rights _now._

As Sokka dealt with a sudden case of frozen nasal mucus, the _gracefully aging_ master turned coolly to his class. It was composed fully of women who had years of training to catch up on. His few remaining male pupils were all either much advanced or too proud to share the training grounds.

Pah. Vainglorious bums.

Sokka was proving to be one of them because after he snorted the iced mucus out, he said, “Why do you have so many girls playing with their magic water? What about the chores? There’s meat to be cooked!”

Perhaps his step-grandson wouldn’t have gotten in half as much trouble if he wasn’t so amazingly _loud_.

As one, sixteen girls who had travelled the ends of the earth to escape female oppression turned to the blithering sexist. The expressions on their faces were like leopard-wolves who had found their prey. At the lead was Pupil Tayarik, an unmarried woman whose vengeful drive to become a master surpassed even Katara’s. “What,” said Tayarik, as sharp as a razor, “did you say?”

Flippantly, Sokka inspected his nails. “I’m just saying that you’re wasting your time. Shouldn’t you girls be doing something you’re actually good at?” He breezily waved his hand side to side. “Cooking, sewing, you know. _Relax_ , leave the fighting to the guys.“

Pupil Tayarik cracked her knuckles one by one. The pops echoed ominously in the hush. “Master Pakku?” she addressed him, but her narrowing eyes were dead fixed on Sokka.

He knew that look. He knew that look very, very well.

Wearily, Pakku sighed. “Just make it a fair fight.”

“Oho _ho_ , you want to fight _me?_ War hero, savior of Gaipan, leader of Team Avatar? Well, if you’re sure. Space Sword here wouldn’t want to get rusty, after all.” Sokka drew his impressive black sword, beckoned, and smirked. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Enunciating each letter slowly, Tayarik said, “Try me.”

Tayarik would never have Katara’s power, but she was _extremely_ precise. Pakku didn’t bother to watch.

Instead, as the spectating men collectively whooped and then groaned for Sokka, Pakku walked over to his lovely wife.

“I almost forgot what a chauvinist he used to be,” said Kanna.

“Are you going to follow that observation up with a smart remark on what _I_ used to be?”

As perfectly satirical as ever, she replied, “Why, Pakku. How self-aware you are.”

Kanna watched Sokka, and Pakku watched Kanna. It was fascinating to see how many different nuances of satisfaction her timeless face could express.

After a particularly explosive noise, Pakku tore his gaze back to the fight, if it could be called one. A sizable crowd had formed around the warrior pinned by impressively close ice stakes that didn’t even nick his clothing. The black sword was an embarrassing inch away from Sokka’s outstretched hand. He tried to reach for it but failed because the stakes so strategically prevented that. After a minute of futile struggle, Sokka begrudgingly conceded, “Okay, you win, but the magic water gave you an unfair advantage! If it were a REAL warrior, I would totally win.“

“Oh, _really?_ ”

From the crowd, a red-haired girl stepped forward. In the sunlight, metal glinted as it fluttered daintily by her chin.

A golden fan.

Oho _ho_ , Pakku was going to watch _this._

...

The swoosh of water. The cold air’s violent shiver. The buzz of a dozen women’s chatter.

It was the dreaded laundry day, and Nuba was listening in on the conversations and laughter in the hut around her. It helped to distract from the prickling chill crawling up her numb fingers.

 _Scrub, scrub,_ went her hands on the slick dyed fur. She couldn’t actually feel them, but decades of handiwork in sub-zero temperatures did wonders for one’s hand-eye coordination. Another prickle went up her pinky. She looked enviously at the waterbenders among them. Osva and Yanneh didn’t even have their sleeves rolled up. Why bother, when you could control water without touch?

That left those waterbenders not so much preoccupied in their work as absentminded, and Osva was a notorious gossip. Nuba tuned her focus to the middle-aged Northerners’ dialogue.

“...heard you checked up _the_ visitor.”

“Yes,” Yanneh replied. “He was really quite sweet.”

Osva snorted. “Any man would be, in front of a woman inspecting their balls.”

“Even then! This was hardly my first time. I know the difference between a cowed ego-tripper and a bashful turtle-pup.”

Artfully casual, Osva hummed. “You’re right, you would know. What were you treating him for, anyway? Fertility? Or did he fall into an ice hole?”

“Now, Osva, healer-patient confidentiality. Honestly, the things you wheedle out of me! You should—“

The door creaked open. Instantly, every single bustling woman stopped moving.

“Um,” the young man hesitantly stepping through the doorway said. He might have been just another foreign visitor if it weren’t for the bright gold eyes and scar. “Gran-Gran said I should help... I can’t wash, but maybe I could... heat the water?”

“ _Please_ ,” urged Yanneh, and Nuba could have sworn that the Fire Lord blushed.

Healers were recklessly daring, Nuba decided, as Yanneh led him to a seat beside the wash basin. Ever so slightly, Nuba edged away. Never had a man said sweeter words than to offer his help with the chores, alright, but this was no normal man. This was hardly a man at all.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nuba tensely watched as That Monster pulled off his mittens to reveal pale, calloused fingers. To think, Katara subjected herself to those hands for life. Nuba never said it to his face, but the chief had lost her respect when he allowed his daughter to _marry_ the _Fire Lord._ It only got worse when he invited him with open arms into their home.

Even if this particular Fire Lord couldn’t be blamed for the raids, Nuba still remembered the first time he had come to their home. It wasn’t a pleasant visit.

“Do I just,” he said, as if he really was just a hesitant boy, “plunge in and heat the water directly?”

“Whatever works for you, your Highness. We try to conserve our tiger-seal oil, so the water is barely tolerable,” said Yanneh. The healer had always seemed like a sensible woman, but she clearly had lost it if she addressed the Fire Lord without bowing to him even once. Katara’s voice drifted to the forefront of Nuba’s mind. _“Relax, Zuko’s harmless,”_ she had told them all, and no one had believed her.

Or so Nuba had thought.

As the temperature of the water steadily rose, the younger girls’ shoulders began to drop. “It’s so _warm_ ,” gasped little Anaok, splashing water to her face. She gripped the edge of the basin and proceeded to dunk her head.

She was yanked back by her braid, water dribbling down her nose and chin. “Don’t _do_ that, Anaok. Do you know how dirty that water is?”

“But _Mommy,_ feel it!”

Even the waterbenders and the women who had just switched out of the dreaded washing job began curiously dipping their hands into the basin. There was a symphony of _sighs_.

“ _Imagine_ taking a bath with this water. It feels so good, I’d do it every day!“

“Now I understand why anyone would want to swim.”

“It’s like hot drinks and stew...”

“You can do this for Katara all the time?“ burst Anaok’s perky chirp. “ _I_ want a firebending husband! Can you introduce me to someone?” Then Anaok, who had gotten in their visitor’s space, remembered who she was talking to and _eeped_ , sudsy hands clapping over her mouth.

Everyone watched with guarded interest as the Fire Lord blinked pale golden eyes at the little girl who dared come within half a foot. Even Nuba found that curiosity trounced her trepidation. “Uh, sorry, I don’t think I know anyone your age...”

“Oh,” squeaked Anaok. “Okay. Thanks—thanks anyway, Lord Zuko, Your Highness, sir!”

Anaok hastily bowed and scampered off to hide behind her mom. The other young girls exploded into sniggers.

As Anaok glowered at them, her aunt Sanyok grinned and bowed to the Fire Lord. “Apologies for that, Lord Zuko. My niece can be quite excitable.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” he replied with an awkward shrug, both hands still faithfully warming the water. The pads of his fingers must be pruning by now. He opened his mouth again. “Although, there seems to be a misunderstanding, Ma’am. The correct address would be Prince, you see.”

Sanyok’s head tilted. “Is this because you’re on vacation, Your Highness? I would have thought that Fire Lord is a permanent title.“

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. In fact, the warmth that bathed them seemed to hang in suspense— The Fire Lord had stopped _breathing_.

Sanyok bit her lip nervously. “Your Highness?”

Yanneh crossed the room, looking him over with a healer’s eye. In contrast with her earlier familiar demeanor, she sounded professional. “Fire Lord Zuko. Are you alright?”

Haunted gold eyes fixed on her. “...What?”

“Are you alright, Lord Zuko? Please, Your Majesty, breathe.”

And he did, and the water got _searingly hot._ Everyone jerked their hands out of it fast enough not to be burned, but not fast enough to forget the scald.

Belatedly, the Fire Lord also tore his hands out. He looked them in horror with increasingly ragged breaths. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, but everyone was already backing away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and bolted, the door creaking in his wake.

...

Zuko was the Fire Lord. _Zuko was the Fire Lord_.

Which meant one thing. His father was _dead_.

Zuko knew his father would stop at nothing to have the throne. The only way someone could take it away was to pry it from his cold, dead fingers.

And the Avatar was _very capable_ of rendering fingers cold and dead.

The North. It was the Siege of the North all over again. Icy whiteness, all around him, just like this. The chilling atmosphere that soaked his bones from his steel entrance to his wooden exit. A hundred waterlogged bodies floating in the ocean in the aftermath, all non-combative staff because anyone in armor would have _sank._

Or, like Zhao, been dragged down to the depths. What would have happened, if Zhao had taken Zuko’s hand? Would they have both survived, or would Zuko have joined him, all for daring to try to save him?

...His sister. His _sister._ Azula would have fought for their father until her final breath.

His sister was _dead_ , his _father_ was dead, and the worst implication of all was that _Zuko had helped._

He ran, and ran, and pumped his legs faster, lungs burning and throat choking with the dry air, no other goal in mind than to get _away_.

Ice was not made for running on. He slipped, ankle twisting painfully in the fall. The arm he flung out to steady himself _cracked._ He didn’t know if it was the sickening sound or the swoop in his belly that triggered his nausea. He heaved, heaved until he made a hollow of his stomach, until the rancid scent of acid and chili-garlic permeated the empty air.

He got up, almost slipping again in his own sick. The world tilted, but he kept going, relishing the frenetic shot nerves up his leg and arm. Good. If he felt enough pain in the rest of his body, maybe he wouldn’t feel the pain in his chest.

He ran with no destination, but he landed at one anyway. The ship thing. Figures in red, like blood in the snow, ran out to meet him.

“My lord!” one of them gasped. An imperial guard, the gold lining on his armor declared. He was saying something, but Zuko was still reeling on my _lord_ , not my _prince._ Your _Majesty_ , not Your _Highness_.

An armored hand reached out. Zuko twisted away, growling. Then another hand, and another, they were _crowding him_ when he needed to be _alone—_

Rage flared within him, and he lashed out—

The servant recoiled and cried out, cradling her arm—

The glove was charred there was a burn she was burned _he burned her._

He burst up the ramp to the ship, dodging through anyone in the way. It was red, _finally_ red, but there were too many people, too many bodies, too many casualties—

This was a luxurious ship a royalty ship Azula should be here but she _wasn’t—_

_“Zuzu!”_

—and Mom was gone, she was gone disappeared dead because of _him._

He found an empty room in a secluded hallway. The door locked from the inside with a _click._

He pushed with his good wrist off the steel and stumbled to the far corner. There, he collapsed into a pathetic curl. There was no porthole for ventilation. The only light was the thin edge of the door. He watched dimly as the still air stirred with his broken, foggy breaths.

This was good. This was alone.

Maybe Zuko would suffocate in here, and no one else would die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yanneh’s name was originally going to spelled Yane, but then I realized that all you Anglo- people would read that as Yayn. *shakes head sadly* English spelling is weird. Y’all should take notes from Filipino.
> 
> On an unrelated note, the nearby Taal Volcano is erupting. My country will never experience a white Christmas, but it’s certainly having a grey New Year! Everything’s dusty with ashfall, not to mention rife with rain, earthquakes and volcanic lightning. The latter is just as gorgeous as it is deadly in a way Azula would appreciate.
> 
> Another marvelous day in the Pacific Ring of Fire. #It’sMoreFunInThePhilippines


	5. Pick Up the Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually whistles and drops an extra-long chapter into your inbox as a two-week-wait apology*

Maybe Bato should have been more surprised that Katara and Sokka had suddenly lost their memory. But ever since he discovered his two godchildren a long way from the South Pole, traveling with the twelve-year-old monk who was the _Avatar_ , Bato stopped expecting anything less than crazy where these two were concerned.

That crazy was usually crazy good, though. Like, we’ve-got-plans-to-invade-the-Fire-Nation-capital kind of crazy. Or, we-ended-the-war kind of crazy.

Not we-have-regressed-into-confused-fifteen-year-olds-and-can’t-let-people-know-because-they-might-PANIC kind of crazy.

He rubbed his chin, free of the beard many of the men of his tribe so favored. “You really have no idea how this happened?”

Katara shrugged. “I once helped someone regain their brainwashed memories by healing them with waterbending. I tried it on Sokka yesterday, and Healer Yanneh tried it on me.” She shook her head, hair loops swishing. “It didn’t work.”

“How about a spiritual cause?” said Hakoda. “Has Aang looked into it?”

“He said he’d try, but it’s going to be difficult without any leads.”

Bato mused, “For all we know, the two of you tripped and hit your heads on a rock.”

Katara snorted, securing the hood of her parka over her head. “Would be nice if that was all it was to it.”

A merchant ship had arrived earlier this morning, so they now walked down the hill to the market where the chief traditionally oversaw business. On the way, the two men explained the city’s features for Katara’s sake.

Dad gestured to a neat row of conjoined igloos. “Those are the apartments, for our short-term dwellers. Some Northerners only stay for months at a time to help build or to train with Master Pakku.”

“Or to experience a change in scenery and culture. Beside it are homes for our permanent settlers.”

“There really does seem to be so many more people,” Katara said in wonder.

“Precisely. See that big igloo with the playground? That’s a school for the younger kids. They’ve been popping out like penguins since the war ended.”

“Children, born to peace,” she breathed in awe. Then she whirled to him excitedly. “Are any of them yours, Bato?”

He stumbled, and Hakoda laughed heartily. His best friend’s eyes twinkled as he said, “Not in this generation, but from a few years before? In a manner of speaking. Mister Bachelor here has caught the eye of quite a few Northerners, but he hasn’t entertained any because...”

“Hakoda,” he said warningly.

Said man looked back, challenge in his eyebrows. “Why not? You can’t tell me you _don’t_ want to put a bead on it.”

“Apart from the fact that I’m old enough to be her father, I refuse to replace her _children’s_ father.”

Subdued, Hakoda replied, “You wouldn’t be replacing him. Maktu would be happy you’re taking care of his family.”

“Which I can do from the wonderful position of honorary _uncle_.”

The tension was palpable. Katara looked between her father and godfather, something sad passing in her wide eyes. “The war still left scars, hasn’t it. Even though it’s over.”

“Yes,” Bato answered, pouncing on the change in subject. Anything to get away from that topic. “They’re there if you dig deep enough. Take this for example: Everyone _knows_ your marriage to the Fire Lord is good for the peace. That doesn’t mean they’re comfortable with it.” Some men and women had outright tried to talk Hakoda into forbidding it. The Water Tribe always kept to itself, they said, and Katara was needed here, they said. How about that nice bachelor from the North? Wasn’t he a good hunter, decently respectful, and not nearly so powerful? _He_ didn’t bring back memories of bloodshed and devastation.

Zuko had learned to cut down on the red when a veteran had lunged at him out of reflex. Still, no amount of Water Tribe colors could hide the scar.

The young sovereign had been careful in every way to appear benevolent to the tribe since then. He stoked fires for Hakoda’s mother and made pretty flame shapes for passing children. He sparred with Katara in front of the waterbending class and got utterly bested. He had flunked an igloo-making to the entire tribe’s amusement and bore their chortles and teasing remarks with composure. Other than a few huffs and a snarky retort to Sokka about owning six different houses that don’t melt, Zuko had handled it well.

So Bato thinks he can be excused for being thrown by the current situation.

A figure in purple carrying the gleam of a master healer’s necklace was running towards them. “Yanneh?” called Hakoda. They rushed to her to close the gap.

“Chief Hakoda! Bato, Katara,” panted the senior healer in short puffs. “Fire Lord— Zuko— ran—”

Katara stepped forward urgently. “Is he hurt? Has Sokka attacked?”

“Healer Yanneh, breathe,” Hakoda implored. “If you could take the time to find us, then you can take the time to find your words.”

Katara bounced agitatedly on her feet as they waited for Yanneh to catch her breath. At last, she said, “We were doing the laundry. Fire Lord Zuko was heating our water when he had what I believe was a panic attack. He stopped breathing and only started again when asked. Then the water became very hot, the women backed away, and he ran.”

He hadn’t known Zuko was the kind of veteran to have panic attacks. It couldn’t have been pretty.

...The laundry. He had carried his and her family’s dirty laundry to the hut earlier. She always insisted on doing his for him, always said it was no trouble.

Bato took in a deep breath.

“Any idea as to what triggered the panic attack?” asked Hakoda, brow deeply creased.

“Sanyok had been speaking to him, after her niece talked to him first,” answered Yanneh, and Bato’s heart jumped to his throat. “Both of them were kindly, so he may have simply felt crowded by people he didn’t know.” She took Katara’s mittened hands in her own. “Katara, I know you don’t remember your marriage to Zuko, but you may be the person he responds to best.”

“I—”

Katara’s thoughts shone in her wide eyes and conflicted brows. Healing a wound was one thing, but this? It meant _facing_ her husband. The husband she did not remember.

However, if Bato knew his goddaughter, she wouldn’t turn her back on people who needed her.

Katara clutched her Kya’s necklace, courage passed on from mother to daughter. A breath was released, shoulders squared, and tone steeled. “Where did he go?”

Yanneh pointed to where a black spot made a stark contrast with the horizon. Not to the pure black spot, invisible if you didn’t know where to look, which was the abandoned warship from decades past kept as a testament to history. The rounder, redder, less malevolent black spot. “He ran in the direction of the airship.”

Hakoda was ready. “Katara, Yanneh, go and help Zuko. We’re getting looks, so walk briskly but _calmly_. You can bend faster transport once you’re out of the city. Bato, mollify the witnesses and prevent gossip. I will follow you soon enough.”

They went their separate ways, Hakoda on to the market to make his excuses, Bato to the hut where the laundry was done. He was the picture of calm, the tribesman’s ear, and when he was young, the accomplice of Hakoda the troublemaker. He had a wealth of experiences placating distressed and angry people, some of them so intense that enthralled listeners have pondered how Bato wasn’t deaf or dead. His intimidating height, admirable patience, and soothing voice must have served him well, they said. Whatever it was, he was going to need every last drop of it to deal with _this_.

The women’s explosive chatter was audible ten feet away from the door. Anaok’s distinctive shriek rose above the clamor.

Maybe Sanyok would make this more bearable, but still. Hakoda _so_ owed him his share of the fermented caribuffalo marrow.

...

Sokka was having a bad day.

First, he almost got his foot chomped off by a tiger-seal because the Avatar thought it would be _fun_ to hop on the carnivorous monsters. He was narrowly saved by airbending, which was worse than waterbending because at least he could see _that_ coming. If torture through mortal peril wasn’t enough, Sokka was forced to give spa service to a fussy ten ton bison while his owner sat there and _meditated_ , completely apathetic to the argument Sokka was having with his animal.

For the record, Sokka totally won that argument.

It wasn’t just the Avatar who had it out for Sokka today. This manly warrior was _certain_ the cranky old grandpa had frozen his snot. He couldn’t prove it, but he had years of petty magic sister retaliation to back him up.

And then this. _This_. He was supposed to be a famous war hero, but a single magic water woman took him down in sixty seconds flat.

Some manly warrior he was. His body wasn’t nearly as bruised as his ego.

Yet, perhaps his ego was about to get the glorious redemption it deserved.

The crowd watched with bated breath. Magic-water-wielding ladies were one thing, but this short-haired girl stood up to him with _fans._ Wickedly sharp one, true, if their hair-thin glints were anything to go by. But they were _fans._ Did they have any advantage beyond maximum lady sass? They had little range and plenty of extra useless weight from the metal that flared to the sides. Unlike daggers, they didn’t offer the protection or the solid grip of a hilt _._ Alternatively, they could be shields, but flimsy ones that did nothing to cover her hands. Slashing along a fan’s folds should pare the fan down.

Chivalry wasn’t dead. He’d go easy on her.

Cranky Grandpa signaled them to begin. Black met gold with a satisfying metallic _shing_. Exhilaration rushed through Sokka’s veins. He was getting the _hang_ of this swordfighting thing!

Though, he probably wasn’t putting enough force into it since she was deflecting his heavier sword with apparent ease. So he struck harder, feinting a jab before swiftly stepping forward and swinging the flat of his blade as hard as he could to her back—no way could she block _that—_ but she sidestepped and twisted just out of range. The sword swung air. Thrown off balance, Sokka stumbled to recover his footing. His opponent had the nerve to relax her stance, flutter her fan, and _yawn_.

“Not so bad for a fangirl,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I’m sure a big, strong man like you is just going _easy_ on me. Why don’t you give this little _girl_ a challenge?”

See if he ever used the flat of his blade again. He held his sword at point and growled, “If you bleed out, don’t blame me. You _asked_ for it.”

“I promise not to be a sore loser.” She ran straight towards him, completely open to his slice, but _mother of polar pups_ she leapt _over_ his blade to his unguarded side. He couldn’t turn the sword fast enough, her grip on his parka was like a vise, and the _razor-edged fan_ was _coming at him_ there was _no time—_

One. Two. The blow didn’t come.

He opened his eyes.

She was smirking, and the golden fan’s blade hovered inches from his face. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry when she pulled back, releasing his parka such that he stumbled and fanning her windswept hair back. “Please,” she said loftily, “Show me how it’s done.”

Forget angry. His blood _boiled_.

He backed to make space and shifted the grip of his sword to one hand. It would make it harder to stay balanced, but it also freed his other hand to use a knife. She needed to get past his sword to attack; he would use the knife to defend himself when she did that.

He weaved and struck.

She dodged under his blade this time, coming out on the knife-less side, then _ow_ _ow ow_ his wolftail was being yanked! He pulled out but then folded fans were _choking his neck._ He threw his head back, managing to knock something, and tumbled out of her fan-chokehold.

He viciously stabbed his sword to the ice to push him up. “Can’t win without dirty tricks? If you want, I can give you a handicap.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was illegal to be resourceful.“ She crouched into a lower stance, like a leopard-wolf eyeing its prey. “I can play by your rules.”

She moved first this time, springing out from her crouch and dancing in and out of his sword’s guard. She blocked his knife with one fan and didn’t take the opportunity to strike with the other, as if teasing him with how much better at maneuvering she was. He pushed her back with the sword, thrusting and flicking this way and that. But the space sword was _heavy_ ; even his muscled arm was burning out.

He watched impatiently for an opening. Maybe she would stop _moving,_ and he could get her with his boomerang before he pulled a shoulder muscle.

(Before she destroyed him and his fragile ego.)

It was in this flash of crippling doubt that he lost.

He swung wide, leaning heavily on one leg to balance himself. She dropped a hand to the ice and kicked his leg out from under him, and _woosh_ , he was falling, back hitting the ground harshly. Winded, he pushed himself up with his elbows, but a foot stepped firmly on his chest, forcing him down. He groped for his sword. It was nowhere to be found.

”Do you yield?”

His knife was still secure in his other hand. It was two feet away from her calf, but she was pointing _his_ sword a hairsbreadth from his throat. He gulped, and felt his Adam’s apple scratch the fine black tip. There was a scratch of pain. A droplet. Blood. The only cut to have come from this entire bladed fight, and it was on him.

He would have to clean the sword later. His sword of his blood.

”...I yield.”

Her deep blue eyes crinkled with satisfaction. She got off his chest lightly and held out her hand to help him up. Humiliated, he took the arm of a woman who was so much tinier and less powerful yet had utterly and effortlessly outclassed him.

A slow clap broke through Sokka’s thoughts, reminding him where they were. There was an _explosion_ of cheers, high and empowered and delighted. The girls he had offended earlier broke the audience ring and rushed at them. Sokka had half a mind to run before the fan lady handed him his sword back and pivoted to meet them. She walked forward gracefully, red hair swaying lightly with the spring in her step, laughing at the younger girls’ gushing antics and reveling in the women’s praise. Aside from a couple of teens who blew a raspberries at him, no one spared Sokka a glance.

He made him way heavily to the sidelines, where Aang gave him a sympathetic pat. The kid who was now older than him was saying something that was probably wise and comforting, but Sokka wasn’t listening. He didn’t have space in his head to, when he was too occupied wondering.

Wondering if he would ever stop being such a failure of a warrior. Wondering when his dad could be proud.

...

There was a red dot of a person, getting larger and larger as she snowed herself and Yanneh closer. She thought it was Zuko, but as they neared Katara realized he didn’t have the scar, and was too tan and thin to be Zuko, anyway.

“Lady Katara!” the man in Fire Nation red shouted. “Please hurry, Fire Lord Zuko—!”

“I know!” she yelled back and zoomed past him.

They were received by hailing guards and led by a uniformed woman up the clanging ramp of the airship. The servant rambled about their worries for Fire Lord Zuko and how it, well, it reminded them of Princess Azula. In a hallway, more red-and-grey clothed people watched in silent agitation. They didn’t block the way, though, and Katara passed through them to get a clear view. An aging man with white sleeves and glasses knocked at a metal door. “Fire Lord Zuko, it’s Doctor Kan. May I come in?”

A snarled “ _no_ ” was his response.

The doctor scratched his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard before catching sight of her. “Lady Katara!” He bowed, open palm above fist. “I’m glad you came quickly.“

“Yes,” she floundered, hastily bobbing her head back, and remembered the person beside her. “Yanneh here is our senior healer. Healer Yanneh, Doctor— Doctor Kan.”

“Ah, yes, Doctor Lei told me about you. She reports being extremely impressed by your skill.” At Yanneh’s quick smile, Kan continued, “However, I fear that this is less a physical issue than a psychological one. He accidentally burned a staff member and has locked himself inside since.”

“I’ll attend to the burn,” said Yanneh. “Katara, go.”

She swallowed. The carpet muffled her footsteps as she approached the forbidding door.

A servant stepped forward, turning a key in the lock until it clicked. Tentatively, Katara stepped into darkness. She strained her eyes and ears for signs of Zuko. It was quiet but for the creak of cold metal.

Just when the door clicked closed, rough hands were on her. She shrieked, but an arm at her mouth muffled it and a whirlwind of force twisted her until she was pressed against the wall. Pressed _in between_ the wall and a person, a broad chest at her back, firm knee against her thigh, hot hand on her wrists, _suffocating closeness all around._

She struggled, but he only pressed harder. Her breath was coming in sharp pants through her nose because her mouth was so harshly gagged. What was this man _doing_ , what was he _going to do_ , what was he going to _do to her?_

Her pulse thundered, louder and more reverbating than the tribe’s great drums. The man who was Zuko, who she had to _trust_ was Zuko, leaned down. His heated breaths brushed chillingly close to her earlobe, and her trembles merged with the ones coming his chest where it rumbled her back. He spoke. “I ordered everyone to leave me alone. So get out and _don’t return_.”

His grip on her loosened, as did the arm around her mouth. Instinct screamed at her that she should take the out, but heady defiance sparked. She gasped out, “I don’t take orders from you.”

Abruptly, she was released. She whirled, arms up to defend from an attack, yet heavy steps that told her Zuko was already staggering away. “Katara!” he rasped, breathing spasmodic. “Stay back! I could hurt you!”

Her eyes narrowed, fear morphing to anger in her adrenaline-shot veins. “I think I can handle my own husband, thanks,” she spat.

Fire licked from his lips, illuminating wild eyes for a flashing moment. When darkness fell again, his hoarse voice murmured, “That only makes it worse.”

Katara didn’t need the painful spike in her chest to tell her that she _did not_ like the sound of that. What if Sokka was right, Aang was wrong, and Zuko _was_ a predator? One trying not to be, maybe, but this was not the type of thing to take chances on. With a hand on the door so she could make a run for it if need be, she spoke.

“Is this because I don’t remember anything? Dad said you were taking it okay.” In the dim sliver of light, his already sharp jaw was squared. “Zuko, talk to me.”

“I told you to go away.”

“No. You may be the Fire Lord, but you’re not the boss of me.”

“ _Leave!_ ”

Orange light and heat burst into the room as furious fire shot over her head, scorching the steel wall behind her. She ducked on instinct, and in her mind’s eye went back in time to a dusty abandoned village in the desert. A hollow-cheeked boy crouched crying over his uncle. A terribly needed offer to help. He had lashed out then, exactly like this.

She had left. How would have things been different had she stayed?

She got down, barely a meter in front of him. Loud and clear, “No.”

He scrabbled backward on hand and foot till he was pressed against the wall. “I _can’t_ hurt you.”

With bravado she didn’t feel, she retorted, “I can defend myself.”

Zuko laughed. Unnerving prickles crawled up her spine. “I bet my father and Azula thought the same thing.”

His... father? Surely he wasn’t stewing in guilt for a man like him? “What are you talking about, Zuko?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I’m a danger to you. So _leave._ ”

“No. I _know_ you, Zuko. You’re not going to hurt me.”

The air tore with his lashing gestures. “You don’t know me! _I_ don’t know me! So don’t pretend that everything is sunshine and lilies and that somehow, you care about me!”

Heart aching, she cupped his face gently. He flinched hard enough to hit the wall.

“Zuko,” she said firmly, undeterred. “I _care_ about you. I might not remember being your wife, but I _do_ remember being friends with you.”

“See,” he gasped out. “That’s the problem. I don’t remember even that.”

Silence, but for the whir of the ship’s systems. Katara dropped her arms slowly.

“All this time.” His tense silence, his explosive aggression, his fragile shakiness. Older-Zuko didn’t fit the picture of the steadfast boy Katara had come to know not because he changed, but because he was never that Zuko in the first place. “You lost your memories, too?”

“What was I supposed to do? _Tell_ you? Hi, Zuko here. Do you remember that time when we were enemies? Good, that’s all I remember too.”

She searched his eyes, almost black in the darkness, as if by looking hard enough she could reach past the facade and see the hostile prince Zuko once was. “How much don’t you remember?”

A beat. He was the first to drop his gaze.

“ _Everything_.”

“Everything?” she said softly. When she reached for his hand, he didn’t pull away.

He whispered, “I don’t know who I am.”

Her thumb rubbed circles into his rough palm, bumping over calloused ridges and smooth skin alike. The repetitive motion was soothing in its constancy. “Then let’s start from the beginning. What _do_ you know?”

It felt like years, or seconds, but Katara was patient. Eventually, his mouth cracked open. “My name is Zuko, son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai. My mother disappeared when I was nine. My father banished me when I was thirteen. I would be allowed home with my honor on the condition that I capture the Avatar. I found the Avatar. He was a child. I haven’t succeeded in capturing him. Now Avatar is a teenager and still free, and I’m residing in the Southern Water Tribe.” His hand clenched, capturing her thumb almost painfully. “I’m a traitor and an usurper.”

“You are _not_ a traitor. You are Zuko. You are strong, and brave, and _good_ ,” she declared without an ounce of hesitation, because if he couldn’t see this for himself then she would _make_ him. “You decided to end the war because it was hurting lives, families, the world and _your own nation_. You _saved_ the Fire Nation, Zuko. You saved it from itself. You saved it from your father.”

He was shaking his head, voice hoarse. “No. No, the Fire Nation was sharing its greatness. Father was doing the right thing by—“

Righteous indignation reared within her. “Was imprisoning and depriving every Southern waterbender the right thing? Was forcing his son to capture a _twelve-year-old_ the right thing? What about the people who have sacrificed and died so needlessly, the people lived on to run from their homes because they had no where else to go? You can’t honestly tell me that in his quest for greatness, your father _hasn’t_ caused suffering far greater.”

He jerked his hand away and snarled, the watery glint in his right eye speaking of pain and desperation. “What do you know? It was necessary. It was a lesson. I’ll be better for it, the world will be better for it—“

“That _lesson_ murdered my mother.” He made a sharp intake of breath. “And it’s destroying you. Please, Zuko. I don’t— I don’t want to argue about this. I just want you to know the good man you came to be.” Her gaze fell to the parka-covered abdomen where skin and cold fire had met. She touched a gentle hand to it. “You saved me, you know? From Azula’s lightning. It was going to kill me, but you jumped in the way and almost _died_. I... I will never forget that again.”

“So what?” he croaked shakily. “I killed my father. I killed my _sister_.”

“You did _not_ ,” she said vehemently, and at once, he was breathing again. A fine trail of water trickled down his cheek. “Aang _defeated_ your father by taking away his bending. Your father is _powerless_ , in prison, where he can no longer hurt you.”

At her last words, the chest beneath her hand shook and rattled. Rapid blinks, and a tear fell on the sharp ridges of his scar. “Azula?”

“She’s alive,” Katara said softly, and Zuko buried his face into her parka and cried. “She’s a little unhinged, but she’s alive. Azula’s alive.”

They sat like that for a long while, Katara stroking his back as Zuko poured out his pain. Just as the position began to stress her crouching legs, his little racking sobs calmed to an indistinct tremble. His ponytailed head rose.

“I, um,” he cleared his throat, quickly turning his face aside. “Your parka. I’m really sorry.”

It was like that time she caught him ranting to the turtleducks. Adorable. Experience taught her he would take offense if she cooed, though, so she simply bent what she could out of the parka and grinned. “Help me wash it, and we’ll call it even. La knows Sokka never did his share of the laundry.”

“O-okay.” Then he just sat there, rubbing his neck and even in the darkness failing miserably to hide the fact that he was wiping his chiseled face on his sleeve. She could laugh at herself for imagining that this awkward turtleduck could be a dangerous predator. Then he winced terribly, and she noticed that the hand— different from the one she held earlier— looked _off_.

She snatched his forearm to another violent flinch, but she was too incensed to feel guilty. His sleeve pulled back to reveal darkly discolored skin. “Your wrist is dislocated! You _grappled_ me like this?!”

“I was trying to scare you,” he mumbled, and she _tsk_ ed.

“Give me some light,” she said and felt around for her— _nonexistent!_ —waterskin. Seriously, Katara? Enter a closed room with an emotionally unstable ninja-firebender in need of healing without _water?_ Ugh, being back home has made her complacent. “On second thought, let’s get out of here. Yanneh’s probably better than me at this anyway.”

Zuko pushed himself onto his feet, one hand cradling the other. When she had gotten several paces to the door without hearing any signs that he was following, she turned back. Zuko was mournfully eyeing the corner he had just vacated.

“No,” she said. “You do not get to curl up in this room and die.”

He sighed. “Not with you around, I won’t.” He gingerly wiped his face and followed.

...

The sound of a metal door clicking open was like a canon shot in the ear-straining silence. Hakoda didn’t need the following elated cheers to know what had just occurred.

He peered into the hallway and saw the senior healer got into a bit of a tussle with the royal physician. Yanneh had taken Zuko’s arm, water ready around her other hand, and the gray-bearded physician protested that he had first rights.

Healer Yanneh retorted, “ _I’m_ the one who can actually _do_ something to heal.”

“I suppose you noticed the sprain in his ankle, then?” said the doctor.

“ _What?_ ” Katara shrieked, and now three distempered medics were turned on poor Zuko.

Before Katara could be give him a tongue-lashing, the attendants laid out cushions for all of them to sit. They were all offered tea and drinking water. One attendant handed the royal physician a wooden kit. A roll of bandages and a wooden splint was laid out before Zuko gathered himself enough to speak.

“Wait,” he said, stilling the water-coated hand Yanneh was holding out. “I burned someone earlier. Could you—?”

A woman stepped forward, pulling off a glove to show a bare hand. “Already healed, your Majesty. I didn’t even need salve.”

The doctor shook his head from where he rolled up Zuko’s pant leg. “I’m never going to get to do my job with these Water Tribeswomen around.”

Yanneh smirked at him and set to prodding Zuko’s wrist. Katara observed—right, she must have forgotten much of her training—before catching Hakoda’s eye.

“Dad, how did it go?”

“With the women at the laundry? As well as could be expected. No one was hurt, but there was quite a stir.”

Zuko had looked up at the sound of his voice. “Chief Hakoda,” he said, as pale as the day he came to their home to present himself as a suitor to Katara. He bowed. “You have my deepest apologies. For earlier... and yesterday. I lied when—”

“I know,” Hakoda cut him off gently, holding up a hand to pause his son-in-law. The son-in-law that didn’t remember being a son-in-law, and whose last memories caused him to recoil heartbreakingly at the sight of a father lifting a hand. “Healer Yanneh does, too. We figured it out. We can discuss this later, but first, you need your rest.” He glanced pointedly at everyone around, and Zuko took the hint.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied, shoulders dropping but face still tense, so Hakoda went with his gut and said,

“You’re forgiven, by the way,“ and tried not to let it show how affected he was by Zuko’s wide-eyed look of disbelief. Not for the first time, Hakoda willed to have a private conversation with Ozai, in which Ozai would be grateful there were bars between them.

Zuko ducked his head. Hakoda took that as his leave and beckoned Katara into an empty room to press for details.

“Where is his memory?”

“Sometime when he was still hunting Aang.”

...The worst case scenario. He watched his daughter carefully. “It’s one thing to wake up where suddenly your newest friend is your husband. It’s another thing for that husband to see you as an enemy.”

Her lips pursed. “He tried to scare me, but that’s because he’s confused. Scared. He doesn’t know what’s true or right. I think with a lot of love, we can help him see.”

“A lot of love, huh?” His eyes lingered beyond the doorway. A plate of hot towels and snacks had arrived for the Fire Lord, who was fidgeting uncomfortably under all the care and attention he was getting. “He was in a very rough place at this time. You know that better than I do. Do you truly think we will be enough to help him?”

She bit her lip, thinking it over, then looked him in the eye. “We’re going to need his uncle.”

He smiled, proud of her insight. “I’ll write a letter to General Iroh. Encourage Zuko to write his own, and we’ll send it with the same hawk.” He touched a hand to his daughter’s shoulder, saw hope and conviction that was so like her mother’s, and drew strength. “I must meet with the council. Afterwards, Aang will be sent here to help you clarify things to Zuko. Katara, tell no one except the doctor about the memory loss, and _especially_ don’t tell them about Zuko’s. This is a very precarious situation we are in, that Fire Lord has become a banished prince.”

Katara returned to Zuko and the medics, and Hakoda mentally reorganized his pitch to the council. At last, Healer Yanneh was satisfied with the injuries’ progress and summed up by giving Zuko, Katara and the physician strict instructions. Hakoda bade his farewells with a quick hug for Katara and a clap to the shoulder for Zuko just as the attendants began their turn to fuss.

He and Yanneh exited the airship together, declining offers of tea and but accepting red bean buns to go. They chewed on the delicious hot buns in on their way to the training grounds. His mother, Master Pakku, Aang, and a quiet Sokka were there. Good, they would meet the other council members with Bato.

They found Bato, the female northern representative, and an administrator at the meeting place. Some people were missing, but that was to be expected. There was work to do. After testimonies from Aang and Healer Yanneh and a confirming interview of Sokka, they discussed their options.

There weren’t many. The meeting felt quicker than it should have been.

Aang left for the airship, and the city crier called a communal dinner. That evening, the Hall was filled with warmth, delicious aromas, and chatter between the tribespeople. Hakoda could physically see the whispers spread. The angry and amused looks at Sokka and curious and fearful glances at Zuko were not entirely subtle. Still, they ate together peacefully, sharing what each family and visitor brought in. Even Zuko, Katara, and Aang bore steaming Fire Nation food from the airship, which Hakoda personally pounced on as soon as was servant-leader appropriate. Once everyone had their fill and began to clean up, Chief Hakoda stood and asked the head of each household, as well as those who were at the training grounds or the hut for laundry that morning, to linger for a conference.

In the end, very few people left, and those who had did so reluctantly, carrying off the younger children. As they did, Hakoda led Aang and all his children, biological or otherwise, up the raised platform. The chief sat cross-legged in the middle, the Avatar on one side and the Fire Lord on the other.

“Many of you have noticed strange behaviors among our members and speculated about their cause.“ He eyed his people and found maybe three who were sheepish, and a multitude who were thoroughly unapologetic. “We have gathered here tonight so that all of us may know the truth.” He turned to his left. “Katara?”

“Sokka and I have amnesia.“ Gasps and murmurs broke out, and Katara patiently waited for them to settle before continuing. “Yesterday, when I got it, the last thing I could remember was the week before Sozin’s Comet. I didn’t even know we ended the war! Today, I’ve regained my memory up till at least that. I hope my confused state hasn’t caused you any trouble, and if it has, I apologize.”

A man raised his hand through the scattered murmured discussions, and Katara gestured at him to speak. “How did this happen?” he asked.

“Sokka and I tripped on a rock. We hit our heads.” Silence. “That’s it. Underwhelming, isn’t it? We woke up like this.”

Exclamations broke out, noisy in numbers, none of them individually loud enough to command the crowd’s attention. When the noise lowered, Hakoda raised his hand and cued, “Sokka?”

“My memory is even further back than Katara’s. I’m supposed to be fifteen years old, beginning my journey with the Avatar. I... I acted stupidly earlier, back at the training grounds. Sorry. The version of me that you remember probably wouldn’t have made the same mistakes. Here’s to hoping we get him back soon enough.” He raised a glass and smiled weakly at the smattering of laughter, then jerked his head to Zuko.

Hakoda looked to his son-in-law, then to the tribe. “Fire Lord Zuko has something to say as well.”

Zuko bowed low before righting himself, back ramrod straight and tall in his kneel type of sit. “To all those who were at the laundry earlier today,” he said solemnly, “I deeply and humbly ask for your forgiveness. I came with every intention of being of help, but... I failed even that. You were nothing but kind, and I startled and hurt you. I’m sorry.” He bowed again and said no more.

A small hand shot up. Startled, Zuko looked to Katara and Hakoda before gesturing. It was Anaok, cheeks puffed and standing despite her mother’s expressive facepalm.

“If I may, Prince Fire Lord Zuko, sir! You were a big help! That was the first time I ever enjoyed laundry, and if you heat the water again, I will do it forever! Well, not _forever_ forever, but like every week forever, and _no_ Mommy, I won’t complain. Hot water is amazing. Firebending husbands are amazing! Thank you for listening, Sir, your Highness Majesty Prince Fire Lord Zuko, sir!”

The girl bowed, saluted, and plopped down, leaving Zuko looking winded. “Th-thank you,” he stuttered, and Katara covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Smiling, Hakoda asked if anyone else had something to ask or add and found that the answer was no. Onto the more delicate matter. His expression grew serious. “The occurrence of amnesia was not a plot or a scheme. It was simply an unfortunate circumstance. Despite this, we cannot let those outside our home know, or else Katara and Sokka may very well become targets of those seeking to do us and the peace harm. I humbly ask, as chief and father, that you remain vigilant to keep their condition a secret. Our battle this time is not with others, but with ourselves. To protect our peace and our people.“

The Avatar stood. “I know that this is troubling news. Apart from the need to keep this to ourselves, the situation hurts me personally. My closest friends, practically my _family_ , no longer know all of the times and the hardships we’ve been through together. But as much as it hurts me, it hurts Fire Lord Zuko. He lost a part of his brother and his _wife_. How about you? Maybe you have lost part of the friends or heroes you found in Sokka and Katara. But they’re still them. They’re just a little lost in time.

“The world admires you, the Water Tribes, for your unrivaled ability to adapt and your unbreakable strength of bonds. I trust that I will see these in action in you supporting Chief Hakoda’s family as they go through this transition. As the old Water Tribe sayings goes, it takes a village to raise a child. Katara and Sokka grew to become the wonderful people we know and love once; with your support and protection, they will certainly do so again.”

After some more placating words and raised concerns, Chief Hakoda declared the conference closed. He then stood by the door and personally wished everyone a good night’s rest as they filtered out of the Hall. When the last pot-bearing man had left, as did Aang who went to get Appa, Hakoda turned back to see his family gathered round one of the hearths.

All the other fires had gone out, leaving this the last one burning low, his family gathered in a circle around it. Hakoda sat at the space left for him and listened. Listened to his mother retell the nightmare of the raids on the Southern Water Tribe, and watched as their flickering flame cast light unto the shadows the Fire Nation. Listened to his stepfather speak of pai sho and an uncle’s love, and felt as the warmth of a family filled a starved heart. Listened to his daughter bid her husband a goodnight and ask if he needed her to stay by his side.

Neck red, Zuko turned her offer down and all but fled from her. He looked like he wished he could take it back when Hakoda began walking with him to the shared bedroom. He was planning to collect his bed quickly to give the boy alone time, but the thought vanished into thin air when Zuko spoke.

“I’m not going to try anything or attack anyone, even the Avatar. You have my word.”

“Do you think that’s why I followed you? To keep a watchful eye?”

Knees bent and shoulders tensed. “My promise doesn’t extend to self-defense.”

“Zuko,” he sighed, aggrieved. “I’m here because I’m concerned about you.“

The shock on his face was painful. “ _Why?_ ” he demanded. “You’re not my uncle! You’re not my”— _crack_ —“my mother. And you’re most _definitely_ not my father, so stop— stop trying to replace him!”

Alright, Hakoda had had _enough_.

He closed in and enveloped his stiffening son-in-law in a hug. Zuko struggled, jabbing a few forceful elbows to the ribs, but Hakoda held fast. Eventually, the fight left the boy. He hung limply, exhausted, flintlike cheekbone cutting into Hakoda’s shoulder.

Voice low, Hakoda replied, “Can you blame me? He put you through so much pain.”

“It was to teach me respect. He _had_ to do it.”

“I think you and I both know that’s not true.”

It took a long time for Zuko to respond. “It’s different for you.“

“How?”

“You’re okay with your son acting like a buffoon.”

Hakoda chuckled. “He turned out alright in the end, didn’t he? Not that you remember, or that he’s shown it since you all got amnesia. However, I think a bit of embarrassment is worth it as long as I can see him smile.“ He released the hug only to put a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. This time, he barely flinched.

“Whatever place you are in, you are always welcome here. Rest well, Zuko.”

...

In the Hall, a boy and his bison reclined. The lingering scent of meat was unfortunately strong in the wake of a tribal meal, but in a world where they were the last of their culture, they had grown accustomed.

“ _You_ didn’t forget everything too, did you, Appa? I’d be _devastated_ if you did.”

The bison groaned. The animal hides around them rustled. Dead skin in a closed space couldn’t be easy for Appa to be around, but better inside where the air warmed than to stay awake bending away the cold of the polar night.

“Yeah, you’re right buddy. It’s probably just them.” The last airbender snuggled on Appa’s neck, nuzzling the freshly brushed thick fur contentedly. Then Aang jerked up. “Oh no! What about Toph?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t even supposed to write the Suki-Sokka fight scene. But you all clamored for it, so a lengthy internet search on swordfighting and a youtube history of tessenjutsu later, here it is. I hope I didn’t totally flop expectations.
> 
> Comment to inspire this author to write faster. Critique to _make_ her!


	6. Before They Slip Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been months. I... have no excuse.
> 
> *ducks rotten tomatoes and a cabbage cart*
> 
> There are a lot of references to the last chapter, so if it’s been a while, I recommend going back and rereading that—
> 
> *gets a cabbage to the face and is knocked out*
> 
> (Really tho.)

In the reflective half light, black ink refused to waver.

 _Of course I’ll act as your regent,_ said elegant strokes on the curling piece of paper. _You and Lady Katara both have more than earned this break. Take your time enjoying the company of her delightful family. Also, do not forget to gift Kanna and Pakku my latest ginseng blend! It has been a hit in Ba Sing Se. Lady Ursa has a stash—_

Lady Ursa.

_Mom._

Zuko stared at the characters of “Ur” and “Sa”, drinking in each inky thread and inflection like a man dying of thirst. The prickle of drying eyes informed him that he needed to blink. Even then, the characters didn’t leave his sight. Zuko saw them in the darkness beneath his eyelids as a brilliant mirage burning like light.

The message on this dated letter shouldn’t have been a surprise, just another piece of evidence. The Avatar had told him the story of how his mother returned. While Zuko did not trust the Avatar, he did trust the word of the doctor who confirmed it. After all, the aging Doctor Kan was the same royal physician who had treated Zuko’s childhood injuries. Who caused Azula and Mom to recover when they were sick. Who had taken Zuko seriously even as a distressed child, solemnly informed him about his mother and sister’s condition, and even about his scar, did not lie. So, despite everything, Zuko trusted the Avatar’s story.

 _Story_.

It wasn’t until he saw the evidence in his uncle’s hand that Zuko—just _maybe_ —believed.

Remnants of electricity crackled through his veins at the sight of his mother’s name. Zuko had rolled and unrolled the letter a thousand times, daring her characters to leave. They stayed.

 _“No matter how things seem to change, never forget who you are._ ”

He whispered with dry lips. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

As he lay there in the cocoon of fur-lined sleeping bag, sounds of life picked up. They drifted in from the common room, past the hide curtain that gave him privacy. Back inside his parka the letter went. Out of the sleeping bag Zuko slipped. As ever, stinging cold air was his greeting. He cricked his neck, stretching his arms all the way down to his ankles. By the time he touched his toes, hair was falling his face. That was something about a full head of hair that he hadn’t missed.

He pushed the offending strands up his scalp, gathering all the hair in a bunch between his fingers. Then he stilled. The maroon hair tie waited on the pelts. Yesterday morning, he had noticed that it wasn’t enough to do a phoenix plume. _Traitor_ , his mind had whispered. _I’m not,_ his heart had begged. And his heart proceeded to curl up and lock itself away, because nothing it had begged for was ever right.

And yet. Somehow, his heart _was_ right. The hair tie didn't make him out to be a disgraced traitor, or at least, not in the eyes of the people on the airship. The tie wasn’t enough to do a phoenix plume because he wasn’t supposed to do his hair in a plume at all. He was supposed to do a topknot.

No. Not that— he couldn’t. It was too much.

He tied off a high ponytail and splashed his face full of freezing water. Then he knelt on the pelts before the lamp and timed his breaths to match the fire within. All this, the stretches, getting dressed, the meditation, this routine was a pale imitation the mornings he had known for so long. The walls were too light. The smells were weird. It was too damn _cold_. But. Breathing with the fire helped. Remembering his uncle helped. Anything to stall before he had to go outside and face Katara's family and all their mushy, personal-space-invading ways.

The family which was his _wife’s,_ and by extension, _his_.

“’Morning, Zuko!” yelled the cheery eyesore of an Avatar when Zuko emerged. It took all the self-control Zuko had to restrain a violent twitch.

Said twitch sprung out when Chief Hakoda clapped him on the shoulder, but... no one commented on it. Even Granpakku only paused in his slurp-bending-drinking thing to say, “Good morning.”

“Sleep well?” Gran-Gran’s warm voice asked as she set bowls down onto the low table. Something in her aging tone and wrinkled face told Zuko that she really cared about the answer.

Surprisingly enough, it was _yes_.

“Great!” said the Avatar. There were white ears poking out of his tunic, along with a tiny furry hand trying to swipe food from the table. “Remember anything new?”

“Not really,” Zuko replied. The lemur’s head surfaced and spat out a wrinkly object. Ugh.

“I _warned_ you about the sea prunes, Momo, now you have to finish that. You sure, Zuko? Katara and Sokka remembered new things after waking up.”

Tearing his eyes away from the gagging Momo, unsympathetic because food was _precious_ , he replied, “I remember another week of floating in the northern ocean on a piece of driftwood.”

Granpakku’s hand, stir-bending a pot of stew, stilled. “ _How_ are you still alive.”

“The weather was good.”

He answered that question wrong, apparently, and their looks were embarrassingly unsubtle—

The door creaked open, and a blast of cold wind entered. As did hair loopies and ocean-at-noon eyes.

Katara.

_Drown him now._

Sokka entered after her, shooting Zuko a sharp look that said, _I’d be happy to indulge_. Sokka didn’t do anything, though, when Katara sank to a seat and called the still-standing Zuko to sit next to her. His heart pounded with every step.

“Hi, Zuko. Did you sleep okay?”

Were they going to ask him this every time? “Yeah.”

“I’m surprised you _can_ sleep,“ remarked Sokka. He had found his own seat, one knee propped up, directly across Zuko. “Stuck in enemy territory and all.”

Katara frowned. “The only one being an enemy here is you, Sokka.” To Zuko, she said, “Ignore him. He gets his kicks from paranoia.”

The Avatar laughed. “True! When I first came out of the iceberg, he was convinced _I_ was a Fire Nation spy. Then when we entered the Fire Nation, he hid from all the ‘enemy’ birds! _Ooh_ , when we first visited the reclaimed Ba Sing Se?”

Hakoda quirked an eyebrow and the corner of mouth. “I heard he got in trouble with the local law enforcement.”

“What? Dad, you _believe_ this guy?”

Hakoda lifted his hands, expression wry. “Aang’s a reliable storyteller. Also, it's all the guards talked about when I arrived.”

Gran-Gran tutted as she set the final bowl down. “Come, time to eat. I can’t keep the food warm forever.”

Granpakku said a prayer of thanksgiving to Tui (or was it Yue?) and La, and together they partook. Zuko used his good hand to hold the chopsticks and steadfastly avoided the sea prunes. The Avatar, whose bowl of meatless stew was steaming in his hands (Zuko was almost certain he was _firebending_ that) asked, “What are you gonna in your free time today?”

Sokka shrugged. “Hunt, fish, y’know, whatever the tribe needs a man like me for.”

“I’ll go see Healer Yanneh. There’s so much I still have to learn from her about healing,” said Katara. Granpakku cleared his throat pointedly. “ _Yes_ , Master Pakku, I’ll train my combat bending, too.”

They then turned to Zuko, who scrambled for an answer. Just as he decided that seeing the royal physician carried the least risk, Sokka cut in shrewdly, “Plan to capture the Avatar?”

Katara scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. Right, Zuko?”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed. “Right.”

“That’s funny,” said Sokka, and the firebender steeled himself for the veiled insults. Movement around the table slowed. “Wasn’t it your life’s purpose not so long ago? I suppose with your dad locked up, there’s no longer any point. You’re on our side now, after all. You turned against your father, locked him up, took his throne—”

 _Crack._ Momo screeched. Splinters of wood flew from the broken chopstick in Zuko’s hand. Katara shouted, “Sokka! You _insensitive—_ ”

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry. I forget you don’t remember that. Then again, the rest of the tribe doesn’t know you have amnesia at all. They all think you’re some pacifistic Fire Lord who’s _devastated_ missing his wife, when in reality...” he trailed off, gliding an open palm along.

Zuko grit his teeth. “Why not finish that sentence, _peasant_.”

“How about you finish it _for_ me, _prince?_ ”

The intense staring match was interrupted by an arm of orange and yellow.

“Hey,” said Aang, forcibly cheerful. “Why don’t I tell you about that time Zuko saved—?”

“ _No_ , Aang. I know you feel that Zuko’s changed, and maybe he did in that future. But this _._ Is _not_ that Zuko.”

“Stop being so paranoid! If Zuko changed once, he can do it again.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s try asking him. Say, Angry Jerk. Can you swear undying loyalty to world peace and harmony among people of every nation?“

He recognized this trap. Honorable words could be twisted until he was played to obey the other’s whims. Tilting his chin up, he said evasively, “I married from the Water Tribes, didn’t I?”

Sokka scoffed. “Right, what a symbol of harmony, having the last Southern Waterbender in your clutches. Tell me, how would the so superior Fire Nation take to having a _savage_ as their queen? I’ve heard there’s polygamy in your royal history.”

His arguments were _infuriating_ , but _they weren’t wrong._

At once, there was an outraged cry from Aang, a stricken look from Katara, a deep scowl from Granpakku, and a set jaw from Hakoda. Gran-Gran got there first. “Sokka, that is _enough_. Zuko is your brother and I expect you to _act_ like it.”

As Zuko fathomed how _that_ was supposed to help, Sokka argued. “Gran-Gran, I know you like him, but he _burned down a village_. Can we _please_ have a little more self-preservation? Or _common sense?_ ”

“Don’t talk to her like that!” he shouted at the same time Aang warned, “Sokka...” and Katara protested, “He’s harmless!”

But Sokka only had eyes for his brother-in-law, and they were smoldering. “What,” his voice dripped with vitriol. “You think you can be a better grandson than me?”

_Azula sneered, mouth curling with that cruel little twist she had learned last week. “So what? It’s not my fault Mom prefers weaklings.”_

The tension choked. The father spoke. “Sokka.”

His defiance faltered, and Sokka slumped in his seat. “...I’m sorry, Gran-Gran.”

“Apology accepted,” she said, refilling Sokka’s half-empty bowl till it was filled to the brim with stew. “I trust you will also apologize to Zuko when you are ready. I want no more casting suspicion at my table, do I make myself clear?”

Granpakku casually bent more tea into his cup. “Good. I thought I was going to have to freeze Sokka’s mouth, too. Katara, eat well. You‘ve forgotten four years of waterbending training, and I intend to catch you up on every second of it.”

As Katara ruefully picked at the sea prunes, Aang slapped his hands together. “Monkey feathers! Zuko, the Sun Warriors!” Zuko only grunted in response and waited for Aang to elaborate on his I-just-remembered-something-you-don’t exclamation. “The two of us went to their ruins and got some _amazing_ firebending lessons. The Dancing Dragon. Ring a bell?”

“Only of Uncle Iroh on Music Night,” Zuko said under his breath.

“That’s it! Sifu Hotman, get ready for some lessons!”

“...Are you talking to me?”

“C’mon, Hotman, these ancient firebending techniques are the _best._ ” Zuko opened his mouth— to reject the outdated slang or techniques, whichever— but Aang beat him to it. “They’re what you used to best Azula.”

Zuko’s mouth hung open, words forgotten.

Sokka muttered, “Can we _not_ give the dangerous firebender more tools with which to harm us?”

Granpakku interjected, “I think it is an excellent idea. There’s an earthen space in the training area which we use to simulate non-tundra environments. It helps firebenders avoid melting the ground.”

“Perfect. If you need us, we’ll be letting off some steam!”

“That phrase don’t _work_ , Aang,” said Sokka sullenly. “It’s too dry and you _just_ said you’d avoid the ice—”

“Stop being such a killjoy. _You’re_ just cranky—”

“I’m _upset—”_

The siblings were going at it, and the argument was much more in-your-face than anything even Mom would have tolerated. Hakoda did nothing more than sigh wistfully.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen them squabble like this,” he said to Zuko’s startled side-eye. “They grow up so fast. Sokka?” called Hakoda.

Mutiny cleared into hope. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Ratuk and the others are going fishing. How about helping them out? And inviting Suki for lunch, while you’re at it.”

“...Yeah, okay, Dad.”

When they were done with the meal, Zuko left the house together with the other benders. They took the wide, open steps down the hill and the longer route through the city, which, as the Avatar explained, would help restore relations with the tribe.

The people, swathed in blue furs and with skin in shades of brown, greeted Aang, Katara and Granpakku either warmly or respectfully. To him, they held no smiles. It was all nods and looks, creased brows or skittering eyes. Never flattering. Just honest.

It wasn't... so bad.

“The Fire Lohd!”

Zuko's heart thudded, he spun, he searched frantically for the father who _never_ leaves the Capital, what did Father want was he coming for _him_ —

Oh. Wait.

 _Zuko_ was the Fire Lord.

And he had just freaked out the toddler that had called out, who was pointing at him and being run up to by—a woman he recognized. Someone from the laundry.

The woman batted away the the toddler’s pointing finger and frantically scooped him up in her arms, face openly frightened.

“Please, it’s fine,” Zuko— the _Fire Lord_ — tried to assure her.

The boy, whose eyes had been bright and excited a moment ago, now peered at Zuko, confused and a little fearful.

Something in him clenched. He tried for a smile. Didn’t succeed. “Hi.” _Wave._ “I’m—” the _Fire Lord_ —“Zuko.”

“The Fire Lohd,” the toddler insisted, an unwanted echo.

Zuko took a sharp breath. Released it, slow and steady. “Yes... I’m the Fire Lord. But I’m also Zuko.”

Innocent sky-blue eyes blinked up. “The Fire Lohd Zuko?”

This time, the smile came. “Right. The Fire Lord Zuko.”

The toddler struggled in his mother’s arms, wanting to go free. She let him, and he ran off. As the boy prattled loudly to anyone nearby about how he saw The Fire Lohd Zuko, his mother’s gaze lingered on him curiously.

“What is it, ma’am?” said Zuko, going for non-threatening.

She startled but didn’t slink back. “Ah, if you don’t mind me asking...” At his nod, she plowed forward. “How old are you, Lord Zuko?”

“I’m—” _sixteen_ “—twenty-one.” He felt like a fraud.

“Oh.” They stood around a little awkwardly, Zuko sending a silent plea to his equally silent, probably laughing companions, until her son circled back. However, the toddler hadn’t come to take his mother’s hand. He took Zuko’s.

“The Fire Lohd Zuko!” he yelled, tugging till the young sovereign’s fingers were ready to pop off. “Come! I show Yanlaq!”

So that was how Zuko found himself awkwardly staggering through the city square in the wake of a hyperactive toddler.

(When they did separate, it took several hands, a marble trick, and a promise of meeting again to mollify the boy, whose lung capacity was not limited to actual words. By this point, Zuko swore the whole _city_ was staring, and there was nothing skittish about their eyes now.)

Finally, they arrived at the training grounds without further incident. Zuko was relieved.

Then he was left alone with the Avatar, learned a strange, sinuous firebending technique, and discovered that his own firebending before all this happened had not been so weak after all.

No, it hadn’t been so weak.

Because _this_ , right here, right now?

Was the _embodiment_ of _weak_.

...

All things considered, it could be worse.

Hoarse yell, thin flash, dust cloud—

Yes, Aang decided. Much worse.

“Don’t rely on your muscle! Fire comes—”

“FIRE COMES FROM THE BREATH, I KNOW.”

See? Zuko was taking suggestions now. Sign of progress!

It took a while and a few fits of frustration, but eventually Zuko’s harsh pants smoothed to even breathing. Aang shifted his weight into the first stance, and together, the Avatar and the Fire Lord lifted arms and opposing leg, the first move of the Dancing Dragon. In tandem, they dropped into a wide dipping step, exhaling with a warming stream of flame. Then a pivotal kick-off, two powered fists—

And a roar of fire!

“ARGH!”

Oh, wait, the only roaring fire was Aang’s. Judging by Zuko’s angry grunts, he had produced yet another measly puff.

Not that Zuko stopped. The (physically) older boy proceeded to power through the entire Dancing Dragon. Aang noted proudly that his form was perfect, if aggressive. And lacking fire.

“What’s happening!” he screamed, going at it, again, and again, and it wasn’t getting better. The scene was almost nostalgic.

Finally, Zuko sat. On the flat earthy ground, head in hands. Lightly, but not so quietly as to startle, Aang settled down cross-legged across Zuko.

“The last thing you remember, your entire purpose in life was to capture me so you could go home,” he said softly. “Now that purpose has been pulled out from under you. It’s no surprise your firebending has been affected.”

Zuko’s tone would have sounded bitter if it wasn’t so tired. “It’s not affected. It’s _gone_.”

“It’s _weaker_ , and _temporarily_ ,” Aang assured him. “The same thing happened when you first joined us. Your purpose had changed, so you lost the rage that used to fuel your fire. Because of that, your bending weakened, just like this.”

Desperately, Zuko asked, “How did I get it back?”

“You learned to _connect_ your fire with your new purpose, and fuel it with new emotions. Then your bending returned, stronger than ever.”

Zuko’s tone was full of disbelief. “Stronger firebending. Without _rage?_ ”

“Yeah! Look at your uncle. Does he look like an angry old man to you? Yet he’s the _Dragon of the West!_ And, not to brag, but I’d say my firebending is pretty powerful, and that has _nothing_ to do with anger.” Aang was up now, gesturing passionately, consumed by the need to make Zuko _see._ “My fuels come from the desire to protect, to see light, to _delight_. Fire isn’t just rage or heat, Zuko. Fire is energy, and life.”

Zuko looked down at his hands, where they fell under the shadow of Aang’s silhouette. He folded and unfolded his fingers, breathing controlled, and puffed a fiery breath.

A great splash echoed from the sparring ring and snapped Zuko out of his trance. He shook his head. The pensiveness in his expression was replaced by ire. “I’m listening to an _Air Nomad_.”

Something inside Aang’s soaring heart crashed and died. The trials, the dragons, the burdens only they shared? All of that meant _nothing_ to this Zuko. Aang sighed, smile tight, and felt his resolve solidify like stone.

He _had_ to get Zuko back.

...

Lunch went much better than breakfast. _Way_ better, in Aang’s opinion, because _oh boy_ , it was _hilarious_ to dangle knowledge of the time none of them remembered when someone was doing it with him.

“How about when Katara—?” said Suki, guffaws vibrating her tone.

“Ooh, ooh, and Zuko and Sokka—?” said Aang, utterly gleeful.

They burst into laughter. Aang was _pretty sure_ they were laughing about the same thing, but who knew?

“Good times, good times,” Suki sighed, wiping a tear from her eyes. Wow, she was almost as good at being dramatic as Sokka was. “Here we are, reliving these moments, me and Aang. Imagine if _Toph_ were here.“

Katara buried her flushing face in her hands. “Please, _no_. I’ll never find a moment’s peace again.”

“Actually... about that,” Aang began.

Katara whipped her head around sharply. “Tell me she’s not on her way.”

“She isn’t, but I was thinking of contacting her because what if the amnesia doesn't have anything to do with location? What if it hit her, too?”

Katara’s mouth went slack. “No.”

Evidently, Sokka’s manners had disappeared with his memories. Talking with his mouth stuffed full, he said, “Why ahr you so whorked up about dis, Katara? Whad can one blaind ghirl do?”

Dead silence.

Suki patted Sokka‘s cheek.

After the meal, the amnesiacs plus Aang and Hakoda made their way to the healer’s hut. A Fire Nation imperial guard bowed to them on their way into the inner room where they found Healer Yanneh with the bespectacled Doctor Kan. The senior healer pushed Zuko onto a seat, rolled up Zuko’s pant leg and sleeve—there was a _splint_ there?—and scolded him for stressing his injuries. (Aang cringed and discreetly crept out of the healer’s sight.) The old physician only sighed.

“They don’t even hurt much, you did a great job, my ankle’s _fine_ —”

“ _You’re_ his physician, tell him his injured joints need to _rest!_ ”

“Frankly, Yanneh? I have long since given up.”

While a chagrined healer worked her glowing water on Zuko’s wrist and ankle, the rest of them gathered around Doctor Kan's table.

“We've come up with three main possibilities. One,” the doctor lifted a gloved finger. “The amnesia is caused by a toxin. Something that was ingested, inhaled, or brought into your bloodstream.”

“A poison,” said Zuko flatly.

Doctor Kan tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Perhaps. It would not be the first attempt, Fire Lord Zuko.”

Katara's hand rose to her mouth, covering her gasp. Sokka sputtered. “You’re saying my sister is in danger of _murder attempts_ by association?!”

Zuko frowned. “That, or she is the target.”

Sokka took his sister by the shoulders and shook her. “I knew you were a trouble magnet, but _this?_ Why, Katara? Wasn't finding the Tui-damned _Avatar_ enough?”

Katara slapped his hands away. “I will _not_ turn my back on people who need me,” she hissed and turned her nose up. Her father looked on sadly.

“If I may,” began Aang with a confidence born from years of mediating conflict. “This doesn’t seem like an assassination attempt. The hypothetical perpetrator doesn’t seem to want Zuko and Katara gone. Just unfit to rule?”

“Even if the amnesia was permanent, that’s not enough to keep Zuko off the throne. He can relearn. At most, it will put him on leave,” said Chief Hakoda. “Perhaps the purpose is to make him and Katara forget important information. That could make Sokka a target as well.”

“But the amnesia _isn’t_ permanent,” insisted Zuko. “The throne always has enemies. Why waste the chance to do permanent damage or kill us?”

Katara shuddered. Aang grimaced. The chief was stony-faced.

The physician considered Zuko gravely. “There’s always a chance that the three of you took too small a dose to achieve the intended effect. However, you have a point, Lord Zuko. The symptoms you are experiencing are quite unnatural.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and pulled closer a very thick, heavily perused book. “I would argue that this amnesia is not the work of toxins at all.”

Katara frowned. “What do you mean?”

He flicked through the large, annotated pages. Some of them were whiter and more spotless than the others, as if they had been added only recently to the heavy tome. “Let me paint the picture. Many plants and substances are known to induce memory loss. Belladonna,” he pointed to an illustration of a plant with berries the shade of night. “Moonflower,“ a trumpet-shaped flower with spiny, seed-filled fruit. “Toxic fumes. Mercury. Cyanide. However, these toxins cause either short-term memory loss, _permanent_ memory loss, or long-term memory loss with return in _fragments._ Nothing quite so clean and sequential as you experience. Furthermore, they come with other symptoms: headaches, vomiting, and diarrhea, among the mildest.”

The amnesiacs all glanced at each other. “Nope.” “None here.” “My bowels are functioning fine.”

The physician bobbed his head. “I would name more, but in short, is no record of a toxin that can cause long-term memory loss _and_ return as cleanly and chronologically as this. Of course, we could be looking at a new toxin, but the science doesn’t support the hypothesis.

“This brings us to our second possibility: The amnesia is the result of interference with your mind or chi. Trauma, chi-acupuncture, and waterhealing can all affect memory, but with memory return this sustained and controlled, the only plausible causes would be the hypnosis of the old Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom.”

“When Jet was brainwashed, I resurfaced his true memories with just one healing session,” Katara pointed out. “We already tried waterhealing on me and Sokka.”

Healer Yanneh replied, “I would not give up just yet. Some of Ba Sing Se’s Joo Dees... could not recover fully.”

Somber silence fell.

“You can,” began Zuko, hands fisted on his lap. “You can try on me later. If. If that would help.” He locked eyes with Katara. “I trust you.”

Chief Hakoda’s face broke into a smile. “Good on you, Zuko.”

Sokka addressed to Doctor Kan. “You said there were three possibilities. What‘s the third?”

“The third possibility is that the amnesia is caused spiritual forces. Perhaps forces encountered either recently or during your past travels with the Avatar.”

Two out of three amnesiacs groaned, and neither appreciated the other's sympathy.

The discussion had continued for another hour, and by then, the chief had to go, and Sokka had lost patience for all the “spiritual mumbo-jumbo.”

Aang had continued discussing with Doctor Kan, though. He told the physician about how he consulted the past Avatars, but none of them had experienced the same thing. They could probably rule “amnesia by virtue of knowing the Avatar” out, but there might have still been Avatar-related occurrences that led to this. On the other hand, Zuko sat down with Yanneh and Katara for a waterhealing session. Unfortunately, nothing had come of it, and they were back to square one. Zuko, the doctor, and the imperial guard then left for the airship.

Aang scratched out his latest attempt at Toph's letter with the graphite stick. Graphite sticks were always their standard writing tool when corresponding with the blind earthbender. This way, she could "read" the shapes formed on the paper. However, Toph still didn't understand all the characters, and often asked people to help translate for her. For confidentiality’s sake, Aang had to be careful with his words.

When he was satisfied that he hadn't been _too_ suspicious, Aang took his glider and soared to the owl-hawkery, cheerfully hollering and waving at the kids down below. He loaded the letter into the carrier of an owl that would fly to an Earth Kingdom bird tower. From there, the letter would be forwarded to Toph’s current position.

He glided over the town some more, just to feel the fresh wind in his face, and was low over the outskirts when he heard a sound. A sound was an awful lot like one of Sokka’s yells. Not the funny yell or the faking yell. Not even the freaked out yell.

The furious, fearful yell.

Oh _no_.

...

_Three Hours Ago_

“The force doesn’t come from your arm, but from your core. When you hit, twist your torso _first_ , and let the arm follow.”

It took a few tries and demonstrations, but the girls were starting to get the hang of it. Suki could see the, to the untrained eye, _subtle_ , but to the warrior, _crucial_ changes. “Feel the difference? That's it, steady your footing. Pull back, twist, and follow through!”

The Kyoshi Warrior captain walked around to each individual, correcting the issues in their form. Naki and Tula were too conservative in their twist. Ina was twisting, but she was leveraging the momentum of the turn, not the strength of the core.

While she was adjusting the angle of Ina‘s arm, nudges and harrumphs began to percolate among the others. Suki turned to see the cause.

Ah, her idiot boyfriend was here.

She looked up at the sky, where the sun was as high as it got at this time of the year in the South Pole. “Alright, I think that’s enough for one morning.”

“But _Suki—“_

“Come on, it’s almost lunchtime. Drill the exercises I showed you, and we can have another session tomorrow. Same time and place?”

Her impromptu class signaled their affirmative and dispersed. She tucked her hair into place and met Sokka halfway, his posture contrite. “I’m sorry, Suki.”

She tilted her head curiously. “Don’t tell me this amnesia affects recent memory too? You already apologized to me yesterday.”

“Yeah, I know that. It’s just... Today I remembered how we met on Kyoshi Island. My actions yesterday were _incredibly_ stupid, in hindsight.”

She grinned. “They were. Thanks for the fight, actually. I haven’t had that much fun in a while. Turns out, there’s a downside to the Kyoshi Warriors' new fame: Self-important jerks are now too chicken-pig to take you on.”

When he didn’t immediately respond, she peered back. He was twirling his beard in his fingers, thinking face on. She sent him a pointed look. He snapped to attention, speaking slowly, like he always did when he had a scheme and it was going to be drastic. “What would you say to having a little _more_ fun?”

“Sokka, if you’re suggesting a make-out session, the answer is no.”

His face reddened comically. “That’s— that’s not— not that I’m _opposed_ —”

Suki smirked. She didn’t appreciate her boyfriend forgetting the things they've been through together, but this amnesiac state did have its perks. Then she heard Sokka’s suggestion.

 _Yes_ , she thought, smirk widening further. It had _excellent_ perks.

...

 _Thirty_ _Minutes Ago_

But did he _really_ have to bring his Space Sword?

...

 _Thirteen_ _Minutes Ago_

Zuko wasn't lost, he _wasn't_. He was just... scouting the area. It wasn't his fault everything was white and that shades of blue were all the same to him. He at least knew how to find the Healing House from the square, but he'd rather not be seen on his own by any of the tribespeople, or Agni forbid, their _children_. _Why_ had he refused the imperial guard's offer to escort him back through the city, again?

Right. Because he didn't want her to have to make the return trip across ice and tenuous peace alone, either.

“Whatcha got there, bro?”

“Nothing,” snapped Zuko, whirling to Sokka's voice, hackles raised and on edge. His unwilling brother-in-law had found him, _alone._ Knife at his right hip, boomerang on his left, _sword on his back_. Zuko had no weapons and some firebending that was worse than ever. No one could see them where they were, tucked between buildings of ice. Zuko could scale that wall, leap to the next igloo then slide down to the square, and run to the Healing House. The Avatar would stop Sokka, if only because the teen didn't like violence. Hopefully, no waterbender would see Zuko steal across the roofs like a thief.

Sokka stepped forward, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Woah, buddy, no need to get so defensive. What's a private conversation between brothers?”

Zuko snarled and pulled back his free arm in a ready stance. “Come closer and I'll blast you.”

“Chill. I just wanna talk—”

He stepped. Zuko spun. Ran to the wall with all momentum—

And found himself flat on his back, wind knocked out of his lungs.

“Sorry, Zuko,” said a girl with red hair. She hovered over him, knee pressed into his diaphragm, and for a moment Zuko thought bizarrely of Ty Lee. Then she came into focus, with her upturned nose and indigo eyes. The Kyoshi Warrior. Just his luck. “Play along, please? Sokka needs to get this out of his system.”

“Right,” Zuko wheezed. “Only Sokka has a grudge.”

“Re _lax_. You don’t remember it, but we’ve settled our differences. I hold nothing against you.”

“...Not even burning down your village?”

“Sorry, what was that?” she said as she clicked metal handcuffs around his wrists. “I couldn’t hear you through the sound of crackling flames and our houses breaking down.”

“...I’m very sorry,” and Zuko meant it, even if he was testing the handcuffs. The cuffs were tight, but the chain was thin and corroded, and icy to touch. A concentrated fire dagger should do it in. Did they not have better cuffs? And where was the bag? _Great_ , in Sokka's hands.

The Kyoshi Warrior pulled him up, and like Ty Lee, she wasn't rough about it. “Thank you, Zuko. Now please, play along. He just has some statements to make. I won’t let him hurt you.”

There was a loophole in her promise. She didn't say anyone _else_ wouldn't hurt him. But... she didn’t _seem_ like she liked to cause real pain. Well, he did owe her, and if it got bad, Zuko could run for it.

They marched him into an empty igloo and sat him on top of the furs. They wouldn’t draw blood, then, probably. The sword just be an intimidation tactic, and Zuko could weather a beating.

Then Sokka reached into Zuko’s bag and found the box.

“Hey, don’t—”

“What is this, poison?” He peered inside and pulled out a manju. He squished the little brown steam cake between his fingers, brought it to his nose, sniffed, and chomped. “Mmm, delicious poison.”

This wasn’t what he agreed to! “Stop that!”

Sokka popped the rest into his mouth, manju turning into mush. “Thish ish quality shtuff!”

“I said stop!”

The glutton swallowed. ”Sure, okay.” And reached for another. Zuko made a noise of protest, but Sokka only chomped once more. His threats carried a muffled quality to them. “I’ll stop if you spill.”

“What." Zuko gnashed his teeth. "About?”

“Well, for starters,” Sokka's clutch the box tightened, crumpling the cardboard where he held it. “What do you want with my family?

“I'm not going to hurt them—”

“I _said_ ,” Sokka interrupted rudely, “What do you _want_ with my family?”

Zuko's was beginning seethe with the deep-seated fury that had been missing the whole day. “Nothing,” he grit. “If you really want to know, try asking me again when I have my memories back. Maybe then I’ll have an answer for you.”

His interrogator crossed his arms. He leveled a look, held it for a minute, and when Zuko’s glare didn’t give, he said, “Fine. What do you want with my sister?”

At this, Zuko’s breath hitched. “Nothing.”

His hesitation cost him. Sokka raised a brown brow. “As _if_. I see the way you look at her.”

“I’m not going to try anything! Okay? I’m not— I’m not even _thinking_ anything.”

The brown brow lowered deliberately, a flat brown line framing sharp blue eyes, a shade lighter than Katara's. For one heart-stopping moment, Zuko thought that this deceptively idiotic brother-in-law was going to label all the pathetic things Zuko _was_ thinking. He didn’t. Sokka kept his silence until Zuko itched with the need to _say something_.

“Look, I... I get that you’re worried. I've attacked you, but I’m not like _that_. Besides, she's a master bender, and I’m surrounded by her element _all the time_. No way can I get too close.”

“You’ve thought about this a suspicious lot,” observed Sokka.

Irritation came back in full force. “I’m thinking about this because you’re forcing me to! Am I not allowed to _reason?_ ”

Suki hummed. “He’s got a point, Sokka. Katara can definitely take care of herself.”

“Yeah, yeah, her magic water’s powerful now. But you’ve seen what this guy’s capable of!” He jabbed two obnoxious fingers from his own eyes to Zuko’s angry ones. “I’m watching you, Prince _Hotman_. Keep those firebendy hands to yourself.” Then he started to walk away, as if just to make a cool exit, but Zuko then saw that he was _taking the manju_ for himself and expected Zuko not to breathe a word about it.

Zuko snarled after him, “Should I keep this firebendy mouth to myself, too?” His interrogator whipped around—with _murder_ in his eyes, and a fist to execute.

Zuko dodged the blow, busted the chain— _ow_ , his wrist—and grabbed the bag. Missed the box, and _great_ , now it looked like Zuko was attacking Sokka. Suki leaped for them, and Aang burst in. Swipe, elbow, check, air blast, duck, and kick—

 _This_ , Zuko realized as adrenaline coursed through the veins, _this_ , Zuko understood. Muscles contracting and taking pain, dodging air and blows and running at full pace. As they slipped into the old patterns of give-and-take, Zuko relished in the sense the world _finally_ started to make.

Thus devolved an all-out war between the four nations. The Southern Water Tribe did not appreciate being the battleground.

...

It was unclear who won. One hour, a freaked flock of snow owls, and a destroyed cabbage cart later, the council ruled that Fire Lord Zuko was the victim, probably, because he had a history of being attacked by amnesiac Sokka unprovoked. The evidence corroborated when witnesses had testified to hearing Sokka scream oddly specific threats (“Your lips will _fall off_ once I’m done with you!“) as he ran after a flushing (“I meant talking! _Tattling!_ ”) Fire Lord. The council also ruled that Kyoshi Warrior Captain Suki was innocent, surely, because she was not seen wreaking havoc and her track record showed her to be responsible. ( _Scoff_ , went Zuko, but those indigo eyes shut him up.) Avatar Aang had more than a little architectural damage to reconstruct. Sokka was punished to wash the entire next batch of laundry.

Katara looked on with vindictive pleasure as judgment descended.

“ _Yes_ ,” she hissed. “Now you can wash your _own_ socks _._ ”

Flipping her braid dramatically in the face of Sokka’s blubbering protests, she walked out.

Zuko, weakling that he was, followed her.

“Congratulations,” he said and hoped it didn’t sound even more awkward than it did in his head.

“What for?” Katara said oddly.

“Uh, congratulations for... this victory? You wanted him to do his share of the laundry, right?”

She laughed, mirth sparkling in her eyes, and Zuko reeled because _he did that_. “I’m surprised you remembered. Thanks, I _am_ feeling very triumphant.”

“Of course I remember. I didn’t get to do my share of the laundry, either.”

She stopped in her tracks to look up at him. “Zuko, no one blames you for overheating the water.”

“I’m not talking about that. Though maybe I should be. But I’m actually talking about your parka. I didn’t help you wash your parka. Which _I_ ruined, so really I should have washed it all by myself, but I didn’t.” Her eyebrows were creeping upward, yet he kept on talking, couldn’t stop talking, should probably stop talking but then he might not get another chance to explain.

“I got you a gift.” He pushed the box of manju into her hands, creased and a little warm where he huffed heat onto it to get the dampness off after that impromptu battle. Miraculously, the rice cakes weren’t squished, and he deemed them worthy enough for the apology, or at least the start of one. “To make up for it. Not that this will make up for it, but I should try. If you want more I can get more, or if you want something else I can get that too, but the chef assured me that this was one of your favorites especially whenever the weather’s cold—“

He stopped mid-sentence. He stopped mid-thought. In fact, he was no longer capable of having _any_ thoughts except _her hand was on his_.

“C’mon,” she said, and her eyes were laughing again. Laughing _at_ him this time, but with her gentle tug, he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I won’t be able to enjoy the food if we keep standing in the cold.”

“It’s— manju is better warm.”

“Good thing I have a firebender with me, then.”

“I, um, my bending isn’t... cooperating.”

“Zuko. I’m inviting you to eat with me. Now let’s _go_ before the food freezes any more.”

Baffled, he said, “The food is my _apology_. And Sokka helped himself, so there isn’t much left.”

“I _still_ want you to eat with me.” Her tug grew more insistent, and for the third time that day, Zuko let himself be dragged along.

They spent the afternoon warming the manju by the fire, savoring the hot matcha creams they ensconced, and complaining about Sokka. Katara’s stories about her childhood were fun and ludicrous, and because he wanted to run with the mood, Zuko told stories about Uncle.

“You’re _joking_. He was out for an hour and came back with _mountains_ of stuff?”

“Wish I was. Ugh, the weight _alone_ must have slowed our ship down.”

She sighed, leaned her head on his shoulder, and took his bare hands in hers to examine the grooves and nicks and callouses. At that moment, Zuko could have sworn his firebending returned. He was going to _combust_. She traced his palm lines, and he kept very still as she continued to ramble about someone called Aunt Wu. He gaped and argued when she tried to tell him why he was a powerful bender. He fell silent as she talked about the things she loved in his nation of fire, how the colorful fish of Ember Island reefs tickled her bare feet and how the mangos had so many varieties she could hardly pick. He listened as she told him that the palace staff could be stiff and aristocracy easily miffed, but the school children danced and the villagers cheered like they had all their hopes and dreams ahead.

All too soon, the light of polar afternoon faded. They got up to face the world beyond the fire of this hearth and each other. It was a very short walk to the kitchen, yet Zuko still noticed that he was no longer being dragged along. With Katara, he wanted to walk side-by-side.

Gran-Gran‘s eyes crinkled into a smile. She handed them tonight’s unprepared meat and a knife. Zuko used what measly bending he had to defrost the fish and was secretly proud to have filleted the squids without splattering a drop of ink. When dinner was ready, so came the rest of the family, which apparently included Aang and Suki.

Aang yawned and excused himself early, exhausted after hours of waterbending various infrastructures back to former condition. Suki left to the igloo she had been staying at, and Gran-Gran and Granpakku turned in.

It was just the siblings, their father, and Zuko. Zuko would have preferred to stay out of this. He could still stay out of this. But every time he considered retreating to his room, he thought, _no man should have to face his father and sister alone._

Hakoda turned to his son. “Sokka, what’s going on?”

Sokka’s mouth twisted scornfully. “What’s going _on_ is you don't even _care_ that there's a dangerous firebender in our midst!”

That was backtalk. Accusatory _backtalk_. And now Hakoda was raising a hand to his son and horror choked down the cry in Zuko's throat—

The hand fell on Sokka's knee. It rested there.

No flames. Just a hand.

“What will it take for you to accept it?” said Hakoda gently. _Gently?_ Zuko's head was spinning. “Zuko is not a threat.”

“Maybe to you,” his son muttered darkly.

 _”What,_ ” _said Sokka, voice dripping with vitriol._ “ _Think you can be a better grandson than me?”_

An epiphany broke, and words came unstuck. “You feel like I’m replacing you.”

Sokka rounded on him furiously. “ _I—!_ ”

Katara gasped.

Sokka slumped. “Of course not.”

The chief’s face was unreadable. “Wait here,” he said and got up and disappeared into the hallway. Katara scooted to Sokka's side, but he was still refusing to meet either of their eyes by the time Hakoda returned. He had his sleeping bag tucked under an arm, Zuko noted. With his other arm, the father hooked Sokka into a— was that a _chokehold?_ Zuko began to get up, but— oh wait, Sokka was breathing fine if he could complain. It was just Lu Ten’s old move. The headlock thing. A noogie.

“Time for some father-son bonding!” Hakoda declared and wrestled Sokka to the door. They grappled into the evening moonlight. Katara was laughing, Sokka was swearing, and Hakoda yelled over his shoulder. “Born tribesmen only! Katara, you’re fine sharing with Zuko, right?”

Katara’s laughter sputtered.

...What?

The door kicked closed with a final echo. “Thanks, Snowflake, g’night!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHA IT'S DONE, the chapter's done! And it’s longer than even Chapter 5? Crazy. Surely the next chapter won’t be as long. Right? Right???
> 
> We are at the halfway point of the story! I would like to thank every single commenter that helped motivate me to continue. If you hadn't left those inspiring notes, I honestly might not have gotten over this block.
> 
> As a treat, here's a fun little scene from the day before in the airship, soon after Katara helped Zuko out of his breakdown. It didn't make it to Chapter 5 because it didn't match the tone, but I assure you, it happened. XD
> 
> Be reminded that the airship staff, bar the doctor and a handful of the most trusted guards, don't know about the amnesia. Everyone has to keep it hush-hush lest the gossip find its way back to the Fire Nation.
> 
> Onto the scene!
> 
> “How are you feeling?” said Lady Katara. 
> 
> Fire Lord Zuko leveled her with a puffy-eyed look that said _do you really have to ask?_
> 
> “If I may, my lord,” the chamberlain suggested from where she stood at the sidelines. “Perhaps his Majesty would like a hot bath?” 
> 
> Life sprang back into Lord Zuko’s eyes. “A hot bath sounds wonderful,” he said. Lady Katara sighed.
> 
> “Would my lady care for a hot bath as well?” 
> 
> “Oh, yes, thank you so much!”
> 
> The very corners of the chamberlain's mouth quirked the slightest amount. A good servant always anticipated the lord and lady’s needs, and this morning was looking to become another job well done.
> 
> She briefly eyed the kitchen assistant, who signaled that yes, the chef was preparing a lunch fit for a king. Then she led the reigning couple down the hall to the master’s suite. The guard diligently bowed and opened the door. Similarly, the maidservant who had already drawn the bath pushed the inner door open and ushered them inside.
> 
> The chamberlain wondered at their shared look of horror as the door shut. Had the bathroom not been prepared to their taste? Perhaps the clothes they laid out weren't warm enough?
> 
> Anyhow, she couldn’t very well ask now. For this royal couple, privacy was key.  
> ...
> 
> The bathroom door opened, steam and heavenly fragrance wafting into the adjoining suite. A freshly-dressed Zuko stepped out of the clouds, wringing his long hair with a towel.
> 
> “Your turn,” he grunted as Katara sprang from her seat on the bed. “I refilled and heated the water.”
> 
> “Thanks,” she squeaked and dashed inside the bathroom, taking extra care to barricade the door.


	7. A Feeling Still Lingers

_One day ago_

So. Katara was soaking in a hot tub. In a Fire Nation airship. And Zuko was _right outside the door_.

The door that didn't have a lock.

Katara sank deeper into the water, and watched the door like an eagle-hawk.

...

_Twelve hours ago_

Katara was a master waterbender, and for the first time, she was joining the master _class_.

You’d think Master Pakku would have warned her, but _nope_. She’d have piled on the sea prunes had she known!

...Okay, maybe not the sea prunes. They really didn't appeal to her like they used to.

Yukon, the stoic middle-aged master, raised a wall of ground ice to block her whip. Katara had never seen a waterbender fight so much like an earthbender, and Yukon was good at it.

He cracked the ice under her feet. _Again_. It was a neat trick that always threw her off her stance, but put them on earthy ground, and she’d have him beat in twenty seconds flat.

But Danuv. _Danuv_. He was a new arrival from the north, having come just the day before. Thanks to that, Katara got a front-row seat to his introductory spar with Master Pakku.

Master Pakku. Almost. _Lost_.

(He would have, had the match went on. At nearly seventy, Master Pakku's endurance wasn't the best. That was something they all knew. When he called the match to an early end, no one called him out on saving face. He had to preserve his strength.)

Katara struck up a conversation with Danuv, eager to learn (and a little jealous about) his techniques. She was delighted to discover that he neither a stuck-up nor a sexist traditionalist that thought women shouldn't bend. In fact, he praised her abilities, saying that he wished his sisters could see her, and believed that women should be taught to bend. Although, his reasons were more to do with self-defense.

The two of them had been talking about the implications of Katara’s amnesia on her skill and muscle memory when Danuv said, “I have to ask. Does... Your husband, the Fire Lord. Does he... _do_ anything you don’t want him to?”

Katara gaped and flushed. “Ugh! You’re as bad as Sokka!”

“We’re concerned!” he said, lifting his hands placatingly. “He’s the _Fire Lord_ , Katara. He can do anything he wants.” His brow dropped with his voice. “ _Does_ he?”

“No!” When Danuv looked at her skeptically, she insisted. “ _No_. He _doesn’t_.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! I’m _fine_ , okay?”

Danuv averted his gaze. In an undertone that Katara probably wasn’t meant to hear, he whispered, “That’s what she always says.”

...

_Now_

The silence was unbearable.

Fine, it wasn’t _that_ bad. After all, she and Zuko had slept in the same room before. They had slept in the same _bed_ before. But that was when he was, y’know, incapacitated after being shot full of lightning?

They never used to have... _This_ hanging between them.

They were a few feet apart in the same room they had first woken in. Unfortunately, the only extra bedroll that the family owned was the one Katara had left at Sokka’s. Neither Katara’s dad nor brother had come back to return it. So instead, Gran-Gran had produced an impressive pile of quilts and shawls and furs, and swaddled Katara in them.

It wasn't bad. Her makeshift cocoon was pretty toasty. It helped that she kept her parka on, unlike that first morning when they had woken up ~~nude ahahaha nope nope nope.~~

Zuko, on the other hand, had taken the two-person bedroll. He had offered to let Katara have it, but there was no way Katara was setting foot in _that_ bed. Besides, it was huge, and he was bigger.

Broader. Stronger.

Katara was going to stop thinking.

She tugged on the strings of her parka hood as if by shrinking the hole that revealed her face, she herself could shrink and escape. Briefly she considered if it was worse in Zuko’s situation. _He_ didn’t remember anything about their friendship.

Yeah, but. He was the guy, so. The tension couldn't be the same for him.

 _Come on, Katara. You can do this. Just fall asleep. Have you_ met _Zuko? He’s the sweetest thing!_

Yes. She knew that. But.

Hrnnnrhhnnghhnnhh.

Eventually, Katara stopped squeezing her eyelids shut and decided that thinking in circles wasn’t resolving anything. She said quietly to the cold air, “Hey. You awake?”

There wasn't even a pause. “Yeah.”

They had been here for what felt like an hour already. She bit her lip. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“...”

“...?”

“...I don’t usually sleep well.”

“Oh.” She exhaled. “I’m not sleeping well now, either. Wanna talk?”

“Okay.”

After a few seconds of waiting if he would start, she said, “So, um. Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

“...No.”

“How come?”

He turned his head away. “Avatar hunting didn’t exactly leave me with free time. It’s not as if there were girls who wanted to stay on a Fire Navy ship.”

“And... if there _was_ a girl you liked, what would you have done?”

“Uhh. Give her flowers? Watch a play? Go out for dinner?”

“Oh.”

“Not that I don’t like you! I just. I don't understand what's going on.”

She laughed lightly. “Yeah. I get it, Zuko. I’m confused, too.”

“Katara, I...” He trailed off. She waited patiently for him to start again. He spoke in a smaller, more tentative voice than before. “I don’t understand. Why would you... Why would you _marry_ me?”

She frowned. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with the person you love?”

“You... You love me?”

That wasn't what she had _meant_ to say _,_ but... “I love you as a friend, Zuko. As something more... I obviously did, at some point. And now? ...Maybe I’m starting to.”

It was quiet for a moment in which Katara was drowning in embarrassment before he rasped, “You’re lying.”

Her eyebrows jumped to her forehead. “No! I'm telling the truth!”

“You’re lying. It’s not.” He swallowed. “It can't be true.”

“And why not?”

He rolled onto his side, facing his back to her. “No one loves me. Not even my uncle.” His tone was so quiet, Katara didn't dare breath for fear of mishearing. “I’m just a replacement for his son.”

“Zuko,” she said softly, heart breaking. “That isn’t true.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t think so. _Your_ family loves _you_.”

Okay, _that_ was the final straw. Katara wriggled out of her makeshift cocoon, braved the cold, and padded over to his ( _their_ ) bedroll. At the noise she made, he looked over his shoulder, and his eyes, gold in the lamplight, became wide. His panic increased. “Wait— Katara— What are you—“

“Calm down.” She unzipped the bedroll, slipped her self inside, and zipped it back up. Zuko had retreated to the far side of the bedroll, which wasn’t far at all. She shimmied and wrapped her arm around his stiff torso. In the process, she also found a leg, so she hooked her leg around that too. She declared to him, or what little she could see of his face, “If there’s one thing I know about Uncle Iroh, it’s that he _loves_ you. So much. You mean the _world_ to him.”

His words rumbled his chest. “I _cost_ him everything.”

“And he gave it because he _loves_ you. _We_ love you, Zuko. My whole family. Well, maybe not Sokka right now, but he did when he didn’t have amnesia. And there’s Aang and Toph and Suki, my dad, Gran-Gran, and Master Pakku. And me. We love you, Zuko.” She buried her face into his shoulder. “Please. Believe.”

After a minute, what felt like an arm hesitantly moved towards her waist. Despite all that she had initiated, Katara couldn't help but tense. This did not escape Zuko’s attention. He pulled away.

“Zuko?”

Their eyes were meeting now. He gave her a half smile. “You should go back to your own bed. I know you’re not comfortable with me yet.”

He had _noticed?_ “Oh.” Katara cleared her throat. “Um, if you’re sure.”

He unzipped the bedroll for her. She shimmied her way out and back to her makeshift pile of furs. He sat up as she tried to worm her way inside, but it was difficult without the extra hand of Gran-Gran.

“Do you... want any help?”

“Yeah, um. Help would be appreciated.”

Together, they managed to tuck her back into some semblance of a cocoon. It was shoddy work compared to Gran-Gran’s neat swaddle, and Katara was _pretty sure_ there was at least one gap through which the cold polar air could enter. She wasn’t going to complain, though. Not after all the effort.

Zuko settled back down into his bedroll. It was silent except for their breathing.

She listened absently and let her eyelids droop. In no time at all, Katara fell asleep.

...

She woke to the sound of kitchen movement.

The light of day was gleaming in the ice walls, and Katara blinked at the room and found that she was alone. Zuko’s bed was empty. She felt oddly disappointed. She pulled herself out of the blankets.

After a trip to the bathroom, she followed her nose—that smelled like _creamed_ _coffee_ —to the common room.

Master Pakku was stirring the contents of a pot with his bending. He was also sneaking some of it straight to his mouth while he was at it. Gran-Gran was not fooled and shooed him to unfreeze the leftover stew. And, at the table was Zuko, a furrow of concentration gracing his forehead as he peeled white sweet potato.

He set down the current piece and looked up at her entrance. “Sleep well?” he said, smiling shyly.

 _Smiling_.

“Y-yeah,” said Katara, heart skipping a beat.

Zuko’s eyes crinkled the slightest bit. “That's good. You were shivering. Later in the night. I, uh. Heated the place with... with my bending.”

He was looking out for her. Warmth flooded her chest. “Thank you.”

He looked so hopeful. “You’re welcome.”

As Katara’s heart attempted to faint her with palpitations, her brain processed her thoughts. If he was bending late into the night... “You didn’t sleep!” she accused.

“I slept! Mostly. It wasn’t that bad, the nightmares were—”

Katara marched over and hugged him around the waist.

Zuko... _reciprocated._

The door opened five seconds later, revealing Sokka.

They tensed.

Sokka gave them a bleary glare. He facepalmed, keeping his hand over his eyes and waving the other hand weakly in their direction. “Keep your oogies where I can’t see them.”

Katara looked incredulously after Sokka. She shared the look with Zuko. Then they realized that their faces were very close, and they were still holding each other in their arms.

They sprang back.

Dad's deep belly laugh echoed as he closed the door behind him. “You look like a new couple again!”

Katara crossed her arms, facing the floor. “ _Dad_.”

“I call it like I see it.” He clapped a hand on Zuko's shoulder. “Treat her well, Zuko.”

Zuko's expression was cautious, if that was possible with flaming cheeks. Still, he responded, “Yes, sir, Chief Hakoda.”

Her father grinned. “None of that. I’d rather you call me ‘Chief Hako _dad_ ’.”

Katara buried her face in her hands.

The ongoings of the kitchen continued without her. She lifted her head to see Gran-Gran coaching Zuko on how much fire the stew needed. Zuko was so focused he didn’t even react to Aang coming in, who flittered between them and asked about their memories. Katara realized she now knew more about the weeks after Sozin's Comet. The overwhelmingness of a new environment and era aside, they were filled with happy moments with Zuko, her family, and friends.

As she sat at the table, for once not needing to do anything, Katara watched her newfound husband help out her family. The simplicity of the moment filled her with peace, and Katara thought, for the first time, _they could work out this married thing._

...

Several hours later in the Southern Water Tribe synagogue, the Avatar opened his glowing eyes. The otherworldly blue light faded, and a shivering lemur scampered out of a stuffed panda-raccoon headpiece into the Avatar’s yellow tunic.

“Uaaagh!” Aang groaned, nothing all like the mystical creature he appeared to be a moment ago. “It’s no good, Momo! The spirits tell me they haven’t seen the Memory Thief on this side of the world in ages! Literal _ages!_ ” He flopped onto his back. Momo patted his chin sympathetically. “Even her relatives say she doesn’t like it here. I don’t know what to dooooo.”

He sighed a gust of wind that rustled the great indigo tapestries of the icy room’s interior. The domed ceiling of the synagogue was not gilded with gold or overlaid with stones. Instead, an intricate story was woven into the ice, the tales of Water Tribe lore preserved with a temporal medium. One could pick out the creation of the seas, the First Hunt, and the princess who gave her life. At the very center of the dome was the likeness of Tui and La, so delicately formed that the koi scales seemed to ripple and glimmer with light. It was all translucence and edges, the sort of immaterial art that even the most detached of monks would appreciate.

Unless you were Monk Whus He, thought Aang. That guy was so detached and unartistic, he even renounced the concept of a name.

Momo chittered inside Aang’s tunic. Aang absently scratched his ear.

“Maybe I should talk to Guru Pathik at the Eastern Air Temple. Or Huu from the Swamp. They might have ideas.”

Only, neither Guru Pathik nor Huu subscribed to postal services. They lived in the outskirts of civilization and by enlightened hermit policies of earthly detachments. Guru Pathik would respond if a letter _somehow_ made it to him. Huu might not even know how to read.

And that. That just brought Aang’s thoughts back to Toph. Her letter should be halfway to Gaoling by now. If the amnesia wasn't caused by a spirit in the South Pole, how was Toph _doing_?

Aang hugged Momo. Toph was fine. _Fine_. She was with her parents!

...Yeeeeaaah, not the best reason.

Momo was screeching in Aang’s arms, so he let go. Gaoling and the Swamp were only a day's flight from each other. If there really wasn't a memory spirit lurking in the South Pole, Aang was due for a visit to the Earth Kingdom.

“But,” he mumbled to his lemur. “That means I have to leave. Do you think they’ll be okay without me?”

 _Chitter_ , said Momo. His glassy green eyes reflected Aang’s profile, and he patted Aang’s chin encouragingly.

Aang smiled. “You’re right, Momo. I’ll give it one last shot. The night might have some spiritual activity.”

...

Per Aang’s request, everyone stayed at the Chief’s House that night. Sokka and his father brought the bedrolls back and took the Chief’s room, leaving Katara and Zuko to share a room again.

Zuko was still very confused.

Sokka was no longer hostile, which was disconcerting but not unanticipated. The rest of the family was just _nice_ , and Zuko didn’t know what to _do_.

Except whatever he can to keep earning those smiles, which didn’t stop coming. It... was actually kind of good.

Since he was officially part of the family, could Zuko call this home? They said that his time here was some sort of vacation, but maybe it didn’t have to be just that. Uncle was surely a better Fire Lord, anyway. He was supposed to have the throne.

Then Zuko could stay here, and help Gran-Gran out with the chores.

Maybe he _was_ loved. Maybe Katara was right after all.

She came into the room, and Zuko noted that she was empty-handed. He asked her, “I thought you were going to get the extra bedroll?”

Katara pulled off her boots at the entrance. “I was, but. I was thinking. Would you sleep better if I slept next to you?”

He jerked involuntarily. “Katara—”

“I know, I know, it’s weird, but sometimes it works. Sokka used to do this for me after... after Mom.”

Zuko rubbed his neck uncomfortably. “I’m not your brother, Katara.”

She said simply, eyes and voice clear and unwavering, “I trust you.”

...

Zuko’s nightmares still woke him in the night. He breathed heavily, eyes flickering, hands reaching for Mom. However, when he tried to extend his arms, he found that his arms were already occupied.

Katara slept on, by his side.

Zuko watched how little puffs of fog escaped her nose with the rise and fall of her chest. Slowed his breaths to match hers. Shifted and curled around her.

Zuko slept on, by her side.

...

The Avatar lasted about five hours into his meditative night spirit watch over the house before he nodded off.

He jerked awake when his body pitched forward, hands wheeling alarmingly. Yikes, if he wasn’t an airbender, he might have fallen off the roof!

He righted his lotus sit, sensing and waiting until dawn broke. Light spilled softly over the horizon, shining pink and yellow hues across the gleaming snow. The sleepless night ended, and location-based spiritual activity was nowhere to be found.

...

Zuko woke with the sun and Katara in his arms for the second time in working memory. Unlike the first time, he understood where he was, and that this was where he was wanted to be.

...

Katara woke to find that she was still wrapped up in Zuko.

“Good morning,” her husband said.

“Good morning,” she replied, stifling a yawn. She beamed at him. “Sleep well?”

Zuko smiled. “Better. Thank you.”

...

Sokka, on the other hand, was neither awake to appreciate the sunrise nor had any desire to be. In fact, he would have been very happy to sleep till noon, but Chief Hakoda quite literally yanked the bed out from under him.

“Rise and shine!” said Dad cheerfully. “It’s laundry day!”

Laundry day? Laundry had no business with Sokka—

_No._

He tried to distract Dad by telling him about all the things he newly remembered this morning. Wow, wasn’t his scheme to trick the Fire Sages _brilliant?_ And sure, Zuko _did_ try to chain up Aang on the winter solstice, but Zuko was different now and he respected that. Also, he’s learnt his lesson and won’t cause property damage ever again, so could the council _please_ change his punishment to something less... _emasculating?_

Dad cuffed him on the head and pushed him— quite literally; Sokka’s boots made grooves in the snow— into the women’s communal chores hut.

He tried to escape, but the wooden door had already been shut. Sokka knew because he slammed head-first into it. Ow.

Ignoring his smarting forehead, Sokka closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Shifted a foot and pivoted.

“Just... tell me what I need to do,” he said wearily, to all the hair loopied people around him. There was not a single manly facial hair in sight. Sokka’s emasculation had begun.

It was like when the men went to war, he supposed, making Sokka was the only boy older than ten left behind in the village. However, at least then, the women didn’t look at him quite so judgmentally. He did whatever manly stuff he wanted to do, all the time. There were little boys to make warriors out of.

And, okay, fine. He knew now that women could be warriors too, and great ones in special cases, like if they had bendy powers or grew up in Kyoshi. But that didn’t mean Sokka was okay with this complete role reversal, or that he wanted to be the special case of the Man Who Did Laundry.

At least the women here had left him to his own devices, mostly. They demonstrated how to wash fur and a tunic, told him they would check his work later, and gave him space.

He scanned his to-wash pile and picked out a sock. It was small and nearly worn at the toes, like it belonged to a child. Should be easy, right?

He held it up.

Aw, yuck!

That wasn’t even _his_ sock!

Sokka pinched his nose and dropped the sock into the tub. It fell with a splash.

There.

Washed.

No, wait, he mused as he fingered his beard. He was supposed to use soap, right? And do that scrubby motion thingie with his hands?

But the sock was so _small_. Surely it didn’t need the scrubbing, right? Just a bit of soap and _voila—_

AHA!

He dumped the bar of soap into the water.

Hmm. It wasn’t dissolving fast enough.

Well, anyway, nothing a little stirring couldn’t fix. And some heat, too!

Sokka was stirring the sixth test of his brand new, very efficient mode of washing clothing when his concentration (and his humming!) was rudely interrupted by voices from outside the hut.

“No, Anaok, I really think I shouldn’t—“

“Come _on,_ Prince Fire Lord Zuko sir, I am _not_ washing with freezing water again!”

The room stiffened as the door swung open, revealing Zuko in all his pale-faced, punishment-free glory. He was with a puffy-cheeked girl who stood with hands on her hips, staring defiantly at all the people who might dare protest.

“Nice of you to join us,” Sokka deadpanned. Zuko’s gold eyes swiveled to him and his washtub. The single brow of Prince Fire Lord Zuko sir shot up.

“What are you _doing?_ ” hissed Prince Fire Lord. Sokka suddenly felt embarrassed and tensed, anticipating, “ _You are a dishonor to menkind!_ ” However, what Zuko actually said was, “You’re going to make the stains _worse!_ ”

That. Had been distinctly unexpected. Sokka looked down at the parka where it floated among suds and other decidedly non-soapy bubbles. He squawked, “What am I doing wrong? Heat helps!”

“I’m _royalty,_ and even I know that you don’t _boil_ bloodstained clothing!”

At this, the females in the room stabbed Sokka with their eyes. Sokka felt slandered. “Oh, you think _you_ can do better?“ He mocked with sweeping bows. “Mister Pampered Prince Fire Lord! King of the Perfectly Laundered Socks! You probably have whole _hordes_ of servants just to iron your royal undies. Slaves, too!”

Zuko’s eye twitched.

He rolled up his sleeves, stalked to a tub of cold water, and snagged the bloodstained hunter’s parka from Sokka’s tub. Offended, Sokka grabbed it back, and they played parka tug-of-war until Zuko threw his hands up. He grabbed a different blood-splattered parka and began washing. Scrubbing, like the women had demonstrated.

It was effective, to Sokka’s dismay.

But Koh hath no fury like a man whose pride was at stake.

Fifteen minutes later, all the women had angled themselves to discreetly observe this very intense, very manly, laundry washing competition between the Fire Lord and a homegrown Water Tribesman.

The Tribesman was winning. At least, his washed pile was growing faster. It was easily double the size of the Fire Lord’s, which was not an inconsiderable size itself. That may or may not have something to do with the fact that the tribesman simply dumped clothing into the water, gave it a mighty stir, and pulled the clothing out.

When the hour was up, the oldest woman present inspected their work. One pile was a bit smaller than an experienced woman washed in that same amount of time. The other pile was five times that. The elder sniffed an article from each pile. Made two very different faces.

Fire Lord Zuko smugly steamed his pile dry, Anaok having volunteered to sort and fold. (“So _warm_ ,” she moaned, smooshing her face into freshly laundered pants.) In fact, so fond was Anaok of folding Zuko-dried laundry that she convinced the other straggling launderers to let the Fire Lord steam their washed clothing as well.

Many women went home with snuggly laundry and great gossip that day, bar those whose laundry was regretfully done by Sokka.

Five hours later, Sokka was _still_ scrubbing the stubborn bloodstains out of the boiled parka, under the stink-eye of some very angry matrons.

...

Yunok’s ice-cracking move was proving more difficult than Katara had first imagined. Ground ice was firm and unyielding, and breaking it without giving the opponent a warning sound was tough. She had to melt the edges below the surface of the ice before she gave the pieces a snappy upward shove.

It didn’t help that she was targeting the ice under Master Pakku’s feet, and he was resisting her. He said maintaining the solidity of one’s foothold was supposed to be second nature. He shifted his weight slowly, at least, giving Katara the time to puzzle it out.

However, the puzzling out thing wasn’t working so well. Dizziness compounded in her head. Katara grimaced and stopped bending the ice for a moment to steady herself.

“Katara, the cracks are freezing again— Katara, focus!”

“Sorry, Master Pakku, I just feel a little—”

She retched on her spit. A wave of nausea hit.

Katara vomited onto the ice.

...

It was frenzy.

Master Pakku had bent them both at top speed in to the Chief’s House. He found Suki, shouted at her to get Yanneh, and paced anxiously in the next room as the senior healer examined his granddaughter.

Yanneh ran the glowing water across Katara’s bare skin. Her graying eyebrows jumped to her forehead.

...

“Why now,” Katara moaned, palms pressed into her eyes. “Why _now._ ”

Suki rubbed circles into Katara's back. The new patient had redressed and put her parka back on. “To be fair,” said Suki sympathetically. “It’s better than if it happened _before_.”

“It shouldn’t have happened at _all_ ,” she groaned. “Suki, I don’t think we can _deal_ with this.”

“Katara,” said Suki. “You are one of the most _amazing_ , caring, badass women I know, and I grew up on Kyoshi.” She squeezed Katara’s arm. “You can do this _._ ”

They stepped through the curtain into the common room. Per Healer Yanneh’s request, the family had not yet set the table for lunch and waited for her to say whatever it was. Aang chewed his lip nervously. Zuko‘s face was deep with concern.

Katara swallowed.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

She got it over with.

“I’m pregnant!”

.

Silence.

Then an _upheaval._

The first to reach her was Dad. He was scrambling, yelling, and swinging her around, and through the blur of sensation she could feel the tremble in his hands. There more limbs, grasping at her, and the incoherent babbles of Aang. Sokka’s jaw had dropped where he was being supported by Gran-Gran. And Pakku, stiff-backed _Master Pakku_ , was breathing shallowly, tears dripping down his wrinkled and liver-spotted face.

Inexplicable joy bubbled inside Katara, washing away all apprehension and unvoiced cries.

 _I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a_ child _._

Wonder and warmth surrounded her on all sides, but then her eyes honed in on the lone figure at the fringes. There was only one person who wasn’t shouting or sobbing or smothering her, and it was the same person whose opinion most mattered.

Zuko stood apart from them all, expression dazed and faint.

His voice was just as.

“Are we sure it’s mine?”

.

He got snowballed in the face for _that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dumps a terrifying amount of responsibility onto poor Zuko‘s shoulders and runs. ends up in Uncle Iroh’s Ba Sing Se teashop.*
> 
> Sokka doing chores is my spirit animal. It’s not that he can’t do them. He just keeps trying to come up with innovative ways _to_ do them.
> 
> And! I have a tumblr now: @hiniwalay. Follow for updates or strike up a convo. =D


	8. It Nags Throughout the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am ALIVE.
> 
> *barricades self in a bomb shelter*

_Poke, poke._

Katara’s eye twitched.

_Poke._

Nothing.

_Pooooooke._

“For the last time, stop it, Sokka!” she hissed, batting away his unrepentant finger.

He prodded instead with an obnoxious voice. “Are you _sure_ there’s a firebender’s spawn in there?”

Katara would have liked to slip some ice down his back, but as a soon-to-be-mother, she thought she needed practice in patience and non-violent reactions.

His finger obediently refrained from poking her. His toe took up the job instead.

Scratch that. Brothers were the _exception_.

Leaving behind a hopping, yelping, scrabbling Sokka, she sashayed, nose in the air, out of the room and into the hallway. There, she nearly bumped into a startled Zuko. His gold eyes were wide and stray black hairs dangled over his forehead. Unbidden, a smile suffused brightly over Katara's face, but it faded when he immediately shifted his gaze, ducked, and retreated back where he came.

She was still staring after at the swishing curtain flap when a large, familiar hand fell on her shoulder. “He’s just adjusting to the idea, Katara. Give him time. _I_ was completely beside myself when we discovered your mother was carrying Sokka.”

She sighed. “It’s been _hours_ , Dad. He won’t even look me in the eye.”

He wrapped the arm around her, pulled her to him, and only repeated, “Give him time.”

She buried her face into his parka.

Gran-Gran shooed them all to dinner not so long after. Aang and her father both filled the dinnertime conversation with anecdotes of baby-raising mishaps. She smiled weakly in thankfulness for their efforts but considered them futile when on Zuko, they had no effect.

She poked at her sea prunes with the end of her chopsticks. Well, the pregnancy explained why they didn't taste as appealing as they used to.

It was almost a relief when the time came to retire for the night. At last, she could force him to acknowledge her. She couldn't make him speak, but she could pull him into the shared bed.

Zuko looked reluctant, but she was insistent, and he acquiesced.

...

Zuko was cold.

Cold. Numb. Frigid. Whatever.

It didn't matter that there was a living, breathing person next to him. He could feel no warmth whatsoever. The cold crept like ants under his skin, spiders up his ears, begging to seep out of his already over-drained body.

He was just so... spent.

For the thousandth time, he wished his mother were here with him. She would understand. She would know what to do. _Uncle_ would know what to do. But they weren’t here and Zuko was and—

He didn’t. Didn’t. Know.

Abruptly, he was on his feet. He stared down at Katara who had the gall to be sleeping _peacefully_ and not at all disturbed, who didn’t _care_ that she had trapped him in turmoil and a life he didn’t deserve, who didn’t know what she was _doing_ when she said she _carried_ _his_ —

He slipped on his boots and out of the house, just managing to restrain himself from slamming the door.

The wind that blasted his face was cold and biting. He slammed his jaw down hard to stop his teeth’s chattering. Snow fell in flurries around his trudging strides. Clouds shifted, hiding the moon’s silver light. There was a howl. A leopard-wolf, Katara had told him last night. One who had been separated from his pack.

He walked, and walked, and found himself at the training grounds. It was the same circular patch of earth that he and Aang— the _Avatar_ , his conscience roared— had practiced not three days ago. The Dancing Dragon form was simple, but fire had evaded him at every turn.

He took the opening stance. Dropped low on both feet. Exhaled a warming stream. Kicked off forcefully.

Fire roared from his knuckles.

He yelled, punctuating every tendon-ripping burst of fire with a terrible scream. An inferno burned all around him, but it was nothing compared to the fury roiling inside. It burned in his lungs, burned in his chest, burned in the muscles he hadn’t stretched. It felt good, _good_ to have his power back, _good_ to find something so _easy_ again, _good_ to have a part of _himself_ that wasn’t tainted by whoever he was _supposed_ to be—

“What’s the Fire Lord doing bending at this time of the night?”

A blast of flames landed feet in front of the intruder, briefly illuminating the navy parka and dark skin of the figure who had dared approach. “Why are you here?” he demanded. His heart pounded wildly in his ribcage. Adrenaline clamored for release.

The man shrugged, strands of coarse black hair moving with the motion. Zuko couldn’t put a name to face, but he hardly knew _any_ of the Water Tribesmen. “Couldn’t sleep. Been thinking too much about home. I figured I might as well work on some moves in the sparring ring. You?”

The story was... believable. Maybe he was gullible or stupid or just that _lonely_ , but he lowered the offensive stance of his hands and answered gruffly, “Just angry.”

“No kidding. At what?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Everything.” He meant that, too. He glared at the floor and ground the dirt beneath his feet. “Myself. My life.” A lick of flame flickered from between his teeth. “My wife.”

The man’s tone was careful. “That’s a heavy accusation to make. She’s not to blame for your misery.”

“I know,” he hissed, fingers curling into fists. “That doesn’t stop me from being angry.”

“Sounds like you have a problem.”

A harsh, humorless bark of laughter escaped Zuko’s throat. “Yeah. I do.”

They stood like that for a long minute, the lone wolf howling by. The tribesman idly bent the flecks of snow that floated around them. “Tell you what. How about a spar?”

Everything inside him screamed _yes_ , but he paused, narrowing his eyes. “You’re confident enough to take on the Fire Lord.”

The waterbender shrugged. It was clearly the stranger's favorite motion. “It’s the dead of the night. The moon is high.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “The odds are in my favor.”

Odds? He scoffed. He wasn’t cowed by _odds_. He rolled his shoulders and cricked his neck. “You’re on.”

It was all steam and ice, instinct and heat. He drew on every last thing he knew about waterbenders and found himself barely matching. It was like an itch that was only now being scratched, a craving for desperation he didn’t know he had. The hair-raising, impossible head-to-head, the thrill of danger, the _almost_ fear of death.

But when it was over and he lay panting on the ice, he discovered that the physical exhaustion didn’t do anything for his mind. The other guy was flopped down weakly meters off to the side. It was easier to listen to him talk than to walk off.

He returned to the Chief’s House just as the sky began to lighten. He slipped inside the door, staggered into his room, and collapsed onto a pile of blankets.

The burn settled deep into his bones, and Zuko was asleep.

...

Katara stroke Appa’s great, bristly nose. “Do you really have to go?”

Aang held his long arms out for a hug. She had been getting a lot of hugs, lately, but that didn’t make this one any less precious. She dove into his arms, not quite over the fact that she only came up to his chin now. It used to be that _she_ was the one comforting _him_.

“You know I do, Katara. This is the best way I can help you now.”

“I know. I just wish...”

The statement hung in the air between them. Aang smiled softly. “He’ll come around.”

“And you.” Aang bent down on his knees and made eye contact with her stomach as if the baby could see through skin and parka. There wasn’t even a bump. Yet, he waggled his finger playfully and put on a pompous, stern tone. “Be good to your mother!”

Katara laughed. Sokka could protest all he wanted, but Aang would make the _best_ uncle.

Aang twisted, and with a gust of wind, he was perched on Appa's head. Appa blinked slowly in Katara’s direction, huffing a gentle gust of warm air that wrapped her like a comforting embrace.

“I’ll miss you too, Appa,” murmured Katara. She gave the bison one last shaggy rub before stepping back.

“Bye, Chief Hakoda!”

“Safe travels, Aang!” her dad called back.

“Yip yip!” the airbender said, and Appa gave a mighty bellow. Katara's hair loopies whipped around her face as they took off.

They soared above the ice, above the buildings not quite glinting in the sunrise, and up, up, and up.

“Take care of Momo for me!” came the final cry. And they were gone.

...

“He’s not awake yet,” said Katara, growing antsier by the minute.

Kanna stitched a baby blanket. As traditional as bone needles were, Fire Nation steel made the work much easier. She pulled the needle through on one end and pushed it back into thick, downy fur. “Let him rest, dear. You gave him life-changing news.”

Katara was not placated. Her eyes jumped from her own needlework to the doorway that led to the bedrooms. “He rises with the sun, Gran-Gran. This isn’t normal.”

She put down the needle and took her granddaughter’s hand. “Katara, I know you are anxious to talk to him.“

“How can I not be? Gran-Gran, I’m going to have his _child_.”

“A child he does not remember conceiving. Katara, my love, give him time.”

She set down the hood she was repairing and hugged her knees. “Sometimes I wish he spoke his mind more. Like Aang or Sokka.”

It was with a hum that Kanna resumed her threading. “And other times you are grateful for his silence and his ability to listen.”

“ _How_ , Gran-Gran? This is such a mess. We’re practically strangers and we’re going to have a _baby_.”

“You are exaggerating, my dear. The way you have been acting these recent days is as anything but strangers.”

She snatched the hood back almost angrily. “I woke up and he wasn’t anymore in the same bed.”

“Did he want to be there in the first place?”

Katara was silent.

Kanna continued to argue serenely. “Yanneh tells me that at the rate your memories are returning, you and Zuko both should have your memories restored before the baby is born whether or not Aang finds a cure.”

“Small mercy,” muttered Katara. She propped her chin on her knees and stared at her needlework, not really seeing the stitches.

Kanna was about to admonish her to focus when Hakoda poked his head through the curtain. “Have you seen Zuko?” he asked, lines deepening on his forehead. “I just came from the bathroom, and he’s not in your room...”

Katara stood. “ _What?_ ”

She darted with her father through the curtain. In a minute, they understood. Zuko had left without letting anyone know he was even awake.

Gran-Gran’s heart broke a little for her grandson-in-law and broke a little more for her granddaughter. Katara was grinding her teeth, a storm brewing in her eyes.

Gran-Gran sighed and pulled the needle. “He is but a boy. Give him time.”

...

Zuko did not arrive to help prepare lunch. Kanna’s grandson-in-law had become a semi-permanent fixture in the kitchen. Without him, Kanna felt a vague sense of loss.

It had been nothing compared to the loss they all felt when he did not turn up for lunch at all.

...

Katara was crying. Crying tears and snot and soul onto Sokka’s shoulder like she hadn’t since after Mom died. Her body wracked, shuddering with hiccups and sobs. Sokka patted and rubbed and rambled and soothed and made jokes that fell flat and anything, _anything_ , to make his sister a little bit better.

...

Suki leaped onto a roof, a conveniently out-of-sight location where no one who didn’t have an eye for hiding places and serious climbing skills could get to.

“Zuko. Stop avoiding Katara.”

He turned his head so that only his scar was visible.

“No.”

Suki seethed. “Zuko, this is _not_ the time to let your personal issues rule over your life. Katara needs you!”

“She has her family—”

“She needs the baby’s _father_.”

Zuko flinched and snarled. “Good luck finding him.” And then he dropped from the roof into the alleys. Suki gave chase, but he was out of sight within an instant, like he had already mapped out his escape. Of course. The solid ice ground gave no indication as to which way.

“We can fix this! We can fix _you!_ ” she shouted into the frigid air.

But he was gone, and Suki couldn’t find him again.

...

It was past midnight when Zuko finally showed up.

“Where have you been?” demanded Pakku, rising from his seat. His voice was crackling and his mustache quivering. The helplessness was palpable.

Zuko closed the front door behind him. Met the eyes of no one.

Entered his and Katara’s room without so much as a response.

The curtain fluttered in his wake. Katara was not in that room. She had slept over with Sokka, carried to bed in her father’s arms.

...

Hakoda was supposed to be at the harbor hailing this week's trade ship this morning. Instead, he was standing sentinel at his son-in-law’s door. But when sounds of life started moving inside the room, it seemed that he didn’t need to. Zuko rose early, as usual, and made his way to the kitchen, as usual. He helped without complaint, as usual, and did not talk much, as usual.

Katara appeared in the doorway. She gasped, tears springing to her eyes. “Zuko.”

Zuko tensed.

Katara paid no heed. She made her way, almost staggering on her feet, to where he stood with his back to her. She wrapped that rigid back with her arms from behind.

“Please,” she whispered brokenly, face pressed into his shoulder blades. “Please. Don’t go. Talk to me.”

Zuko still did not speak.

This, too, was usual.

...

Katara was fury incarnate in the waterbending ring that morning.

Master Pakku had tried to stop her. Said she shouldn’t exert herself. Well, she had exerted herself before this and the baby was fine, right? After all, this was Zuko’s spawn. If there was anything she knew about Zuko, it was that he didn’t. just. _die_.

She would regret this later, she knew. She would be _furious_ with herself for putting the baby in danger. But maybe that was the point. Maybe she wanted to be angry with herself.

It was better than being angry with Zuko.

There were yells, hoarse and scared. Master Pakku was shouting at her to stop, and Danuv and Yunok both had halted all their own training to watch the spectacle she was making.

With a great crash of water and ice, Katara stumbled and fell on all fours, exhausted, limbs quaking and slipping under her from the exertion. Master Pakku’s lips were thin and pale as he approached, but Danuv was the first to reach her. He bent the water out and propped her up so that at least her bare palms weren’t freezing on the ice. Katara was just... trying to breathe without being sick, and Master Pakku’s fussing was _not_ helpful.

Then... he stopped talking. A hush blanketed the arena.

Zuko was at the entrance. He licked his lips. “I—”

And then he bolted. Someone was screaming, and it took Katara seconds to realize it was _her_ and the next thing she knew, Zuko was down on the ice, good cheek pressed to the ground and scarred cheek facing upward with a slitted yellow eye. She pressed her knees down on his back and snarled in a voice she didn’t recognize,

“ _You._ Do not get to _leave_ again.”

His scarred eye widened. That was the only warning she got before she was thrown off him with a burst of fire, flying through the air, and crying out as the back of her skull crashed into the icy ground.

The last thing she saw was Zuko’s horrified look before she blacked out.

...

Master Pakku was livid.

He paced outside the ward in the Healing House, unwilling to leave his granddaughter’s side for even a second. The walls very nearly shook with the fury of his anger. He should have— he should never have allowed—

...

Katara awoke to a splitting headache and a Zuko at her bedside.

She blinked with dull, bleary eyes at him, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed. That dark head raised, trepidatiously, beseechingly, distressed. She stared into his gold eyes for a moment. Rolled over to face the wall. Turned her back on him.

...

“Danuv,” said Zuko desperately. His hands were shaking. “You said you knew how to help with the anger.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. It’s not a conventional method. You may not like it.”

“Anything,” said Zuko. “Anything to make this right.”

They met Suki on the way. “I told you we could fix this,” she said.

Zuko tried his best not to flinch as he sat down on a hard stone chair. Then— earthen manacles surged to trap his wrists and arms and ankles— he struggled—

Suki chi-blocked him.

The dark room then emptied of people. Friends. Traitors? A lantern flickered on.

Someone glided in. His clothing was blue, but his skin was light.

He lifted his head, and Zuko stared into green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ಠ益ಠ


End file.
